One is One and All Alone
by QueenOfTheDreamers87
Summary: Sequel to Robbers' Retreat - read that first! Having gotten rid of Rodolphus, married Bellatrix, and helped her through the excruciating process of creating a Horcrux, Lord Voldemort finds there's more to being a family man/aspiring dictator than he'd ever anticipated. Jealousy, possessiveness, greed, lust, and a thirst for power combine to snarl his climb. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

"My Lord, are you certain I look all right? I'm worried… I still look ill."

Bellatrix turned away from the boudoir mirror, adjusting her sleeveless leather tunic and gauntlets. Her hair had been yanked back into a ferocious-looking knot. This was the first meeting she'd be attending at Voldemort's side as The Dark Lady, the first since making her Horcrux. She frowned when she heard no reply, and she huffed a breath as she returned her attention to her cosmetics case.

She unscrewed the tin of Madam Mahoney's Cover-All Cream and smeared a bit under her eyes. It helped with the dark bags, at least a little. Bellatrix pulled out her stick of charcoal black eyeliner and drew thicker lines; perhaps if she focused attention there; people would pay less heed to her sunken cheeks. Suddenly a reflection appeared in the mirror, a wizard behind her with his hands on her shoulders. Lord Voldemort tipped his head and noted,

"You look thin."

"Well, I've lost quite a lot of weight," Bellatrix admitted. She'd been thin before; she was emaciated now. As if to reiterate that point, Voldemort let his hands trail down her torso and settled his fingers through the leather until she could tell he was counting out her ribs. He frowned into the mirror as she put her eyeliner away, and he insisted,

"You're going to have cake for dinner."

Bellatrix sighed. "Did you lose your appetite afterward?"

"No," Voldemort shrugged, "but you healed differently than I did. I didn't have anyone there to take the pain away so quickly. You handled the whole process better. I… all I know is that you need to eat. I'm going to dose you with Famishing Draught tonight and tomorrow night until I can't poke between your ribs. Understood?"

Bellatrix nodded and shut her cosmetics case. She rose slowly and turned to face him. She felt her eyes well just a little as she suggested,

"I'm ugly to you now. After making the Horcrux. My face looks so ill; my body is so thin. You're not attracted to me."

Voldemort scoffed and shook his head roughly. "How very disrespectful of you to put untrue words into my mouth like that, Bellatrix. I love you, and that's why I had you make a Horcrux. It's why I married you."

"Would you still do it, if you could try all over again?"

He frowned. "Do what? Marry you?"

"There might have been someone better," Bellatrix said meekly, but Voldemort shook his head and quirked up his shoulders.

"You do realise, don't you, that there could never - not in a hundred thousand years - be anyone else? Not under any circumstances whatsoever. So, yes, Bellatrix, I would still do it. I would marry you again… and again, and again, and again."

Bellatrix smirked and whispered, "I do believe once does the trick, Master. Shall we go downstairs?"

"Yes. You look beautiful. Stop sulking." Voldemort snatched Bellatrix's hand and practically dragged her from the suite.

* * *

She really did look ill. It had been days since she'd made the Horcrux, but she looked like Muggles did when they had influenza. She was pale and clammy, even with the makeup. People did seem a little worried, especially her father. So halfway through the meeting, Voldemort said rather imperiously,

"The Dark Lady has performed powerful magic. None of you are permitted details for security reasons, but suffice it to say that I can confidently declare her the most accomplished Dark witch in Britain today."

He let that sink in for a moment as Bellatrix smiled weakly, and the others looked at one another, very impressed. They could speculate all they wanted about what sort of magic she'd done. Maybe she'd wiped out an entire species of Magical Creatures. Maybe she'd created a storm from scratch. Maybe she'd murdered someone and made an Inferius. None of them would guess she'd made a Horcrux, and that was fine. They'd see that whatever she'd done had been enough to make her look ill and had been enough to make her lord and master and husband exceedingly proud of her.

"Friends," Voldemort said after a time, "Today I wish to introduce to you the newest member of our ranks. As you know, many are now clamoring to serve as Death Eaters. Whilst I allow many of them to serve me as Ministry plants or thugs, the honour of being a Death Eater is reserved only for those whose minds I have examined and trust, and those with the capacity to lead my lesser troops."

Everyone round the table seemed pleased with themselves at that declaration, so Voldemort gave it a moment to sit. Then he beckoned to the round-cheeked, kind-faced young wizard who had been a Ravenclaw in the same year as Bellatrix. She nodded with recognition at him as he nervously approached the Dark Lord.

"This is Cato Burke. Many of you know him and his grandfather, Caractacus, of Borgin and Burke's. I have known Caractacus for a good long while. Cato, it is said that you were among the most intelligent Arithmancy students ever seen at Hogwarts. You are particularly good with numbers, calculations, and logic-based predictions. Is that right?"

"I do my best with them, My Lord." Cato bowed his head, and then he added, "I would do my best in every capacity for you… Master."

Voldemort felt a slick stream of satisfaction go through his veins. He looked up to Bellatrix's father and said,

"Cygnus. You will take on Cato as your assistant. As our financial situation grows more complicated, I daresay you could use an apprentice."

"Thank you, Master. Merciful, indeed. I shall appreciate any and all work Cato might do," said Lord Voldemort's father-in-law. Voldemort looked back up at tall, broad Cato with his kindly hazel eyes, and he said,

"Extend the left arm."

Cato did, and Voldemort traced the rough shape of the Dark Mark on his forearm as he murmured, " _Morsmordre._ "

Those around the table hissed in pain as their own Marks burned. Voldemort's did, too; it did every time he made a new one. Voldemort pulled his wand away as Cato stared in awe at the Mark that was fading from black to maroon to pink.

"You belong to me now," Voldemort said. "Kneel and declare yourself."

Cato Burke dropped quickly to one knee and bowed his head as if in prayer.

"Most benevolent and fearsome Master, I am your eternal and loyal servant. I shall fight for you, gladly unto the death, and so long as I live, my every action will be in your service."

He rose slowly then as those around the table applauded, and Cato smiled happily, his gaze lingering for a half second on Bellatrix. He sat, and Bellatrix's eyes stayed locked on him. Voldemort frowned and cleared his throat before dismissing the meeting.

Hours later, he and Bellatrix sat eating in their suite. She was finally devouring a steak, thanks to him drugging her into hunger, but she was going slowly. Voldemort had already finished his steak and roast potato, so he set down his knife and fork and said,

"You're the most brilliant Occlumens I've ever seen, so I demand that you tell the truth to me now when I ask it."

Bellatrix looked up from her steak, surprised. She chewed and swallowed her bite and swigged at her wine, and she asked,

"Whatever is the matter, Master?"

"How well do you and Cato Burke know one another?"

Bellatrix's cheeks coloured, but she insisted, "We knew one another at school. We were friendly acquaintances in classes."

"Liar," Voldemort hissed, and Bellatrix's cheeks went scarlet. He yanked hard on the tablecloth, sending all their dishes and food flying in a mess to the floor. He wandlessly, nonverbally Vanished it all and lifted himself up, leaning across the table. "Tell me the truth."

"We were only… only fourteen and fifteen, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered, and Voldemort sneered,

"What, you were his little _girlfriend_?"

Bellatrix shrugged helplessly. "It was only a few months; we only snogged one another a few times, and -"

"You kissed that boy?" Voldemort staggered backward, and Bellatrix's eyes went wide as she exclaimed,

"I had a husband! I know he's dead, but surely you haven't forgotten he existed!"

"How _dare_ you speak to me like that!" Voldemort rushed over to Bellatrix and snatched at her twig-thin arm. She yelped in pain as he wrenched her up, and he instantly released her. He gasped, realising he'd hurt her, and he stared at his own hand. Then he blinked a few times and gulped, licking his dry lips. He shut his eyes and mumbled,

"You're right. It's stupid. You were only children. I had my own past."

"Yes, like Myrandae, who told all of Hogwarts how big your cock was," Bellatrix said, and when Voldemort opened his eyes, she was rubbing her arm. She added hesitantly, "Master."

"I apologise for my silly reaction," Voldemort said tightly. "It is only that I noticed the two of you make eye contact."

"I believe he's with Zahara Shacklebolt these days, My Lord," Bellatrix said, still rubbing at her arm. "And I'm married to the Dark Lord. None of what happened when we were fourth-years matters, does it?"

She blinked a few times and winced, and Voldemort could see that she'd have bruises in the shape of his fingerprints. He scowled at that, for it reminded him of the time Rodolphus had left bruises on her neck. That had angered Voldemort so much he'd almost killed Rodolphus.

" _Accio_ Butterfly Weed Balm." He held his hand out, feeling a little tired from all this wandless magic. He caught the tin of balm when it soared at him from their Potions stores, and he set the lid on the empty table. As he scooped a little onto the pad of his finger and rubbed it onto Bellatrix's tiny bicep, he murmured, "I'm very sorry I hurt you. That was wrong of me, and stupid. You didn't finish eating. I'll send for more food."

"I'm not hungry, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered, and when Voldemort raised his eyes, there were lines of kohl-stained black tears streaming down her cheeks. Had he hurt her that badly? He reached for his wand and aimed it at her arm.

" _Allevio._ "

"No, it's… I think of him sometimes. I'm sorry. I can't help it." Bellatrix swiped at her tears, which just sent black smearing all over her face. Rodolphus, she meant. Voldemort silently put the lid back on the Butterfly Weed Balm and Banished it to the stores. Before he could say anything, Bellatrix sniffed a little and said, "It doesn't matter. He doesn't matter anymore. You are all that matters to me."

She looked pathetic then. She looked sick, and her eyes flashed burgundy, and her face was covered in black eyeliner, and Voldemort felt more profoundly guilty than he'd ever felt in his entire life.

"Go take a shower," he whispered. "Your face is a mess."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Hello, dear readers! I wound up not writing a Star Wars fic (just wasn't inspired to do so!), but I did write a Dramione fic. Now I'm back to wanting to explore this storyverse a bit more. As you can tell from this first chapter, Lord Voldemort isn't content to have simply married Bellatrix. He was jealous of Rodolphus, and he's going to continue finding ways to let jealousy and possessiveness create problems - even where they don't really exist. As for Bellatrix, she's got to get back to her healthy self in the wake of making a Horcrux… and I think we could do with a good old make-up lemon, yeah? All aboard the Bellamort Express! Choo choo! :) As always, your feedback is extremely valued. Fifty points to your House for a comment or review. ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

"Bella."

"Mmm-hmm?" She was utterly exhausted as she blinked her eyes open, and her voice was gravelly to her own ears as she asked, "Wh-What time is it, My Lord?"

"I don't know. I can't sleep. I know that much. Look at me, will you?"

Bellatrix tried not to groan in discomfort as she rolled over to face her master and husband. She'd pulled her hair into a tight braid after taking a shower, and she'd yanked on one of Voldemort's old, worn-out linen shirts as a nightgown. Now his fingers drifted around her cheek, and he whispered,

"You did so well."

She frowned. "When?"

"On the Isle of Man," he said. Making her Horcrux, she meant. Or maybe healing from the Splinching. Perhaps he meant both occasions. Bellatrix covered his hand with hers and mumbled,

"You fucked Myrandae and she told everyone about your giant cock… My Lord."

He turned up half his mouth and nodded just a little.

"And you were messy and unpractised in kissing my newest Death Eater when you likely had not even grown breasts."

"No. I was flat as a board," Bellatrix assured him, and Voldemort actually laughed quietly. He moved a little, hovering over her, propped on his elbows, and he whispered,

"Do you know what would help all this ridiculous possession I'm feeling? To possess you."

"You do," she nodded, squeezing at his forearm. "You do possess me."

"I need to _possess_ you, Bellatrix," Voldemort said, sounding desperate all of a sudden. "I need to take you to the edge of breaking, you understand?"

She felt a little afraid all of a sudden, and she shook her head. She did not understand. Voldemort's throat bobbed, and his eyes flicked over to the table beside the bed.

"I took Girding Potion an hour ago," he informed her. "Just a little dose. Enough to give me a few good rounds."

Rounds. Bellatrix felt her mouth fall open, and then suddenly Voldemort had bent to murmur against her lips,

"Give me permission to do whatever I want."

"You don't need my permission, Master," Bellatrix replied, but Voldemort growled quietly,

"I know. Give it to me anyway."

Bellatrix waited for him to pull back, and once she met his eyes in the moonlight, she said seriously,

"My body is yours. Do with it whatever you will. I consent to anything and everything… my lord, my master, and my husband."

"Oh. Bella. _Incarcerous._ "

She gasped, for he'd quickly snatched her wrists and slammed them up against the slatted headboard. She hadn't even realised he'd been holding his wand, but there he was, straddling her, and her wrists were tied up. Her breath was rickety and shallow as he descended down a bit, and the moment he clamped his mouth onto her breast, she cried out.

" _Silencio_ ," she heard him say casually, and then she'd lost her voice entirely. She tried to scream at the way he was suckling hard on one breast, so hard that it hurt like mad. She tried to moan when he let up and started licking the other nipple more gently, when he caressed the soft curves of each side. She tried to groan as her back arched and he slid a hand under there to hold her, as her peaked right nipple was carefully teased by eager lips. Nothing came out but silent breath.

"What's the matter, Bella? Don't you like it?" He was mocking her as he came up for a kiss, his mouth warm and wet on hers as he crushed their lips together. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and dragged it around, sucking hard enough on Bellatrix's own tongue that she squealed in pain. Or, at least, she tried to squeal. His Silencing Charm kept her quiet.

"Don't worry; I'll find out if you like it."

He put his fingers between her legs and smirked like a rogue, licking his bottom lip as the pads of his calloused right fingers drew around her damp folds.

"Wet. Wet, wet, wet. The little girl wants to play. She likes it. She likes when her master suckles on her little chest, doesn't she?"

Bellatrix just nodded silently and bucked her hips against his hand, but he used his left forearm to pin her down by her collarbone, eliciting a choked gasp through the Silencing Charm.

"Patience," he said, his voice hard. "I will come first."

Bellatrix was soaked then. She was dripping around his fingers; she could feel it. Suddenly Voldemort was crawling back up, a knee on either side of her too-thin ribs, and he instructed her,

"Close your eyes and mouth. I'm going to paint your face and leave it there until it dries."

Bellatrix couldn't breathe then. She stared up at him as he stroked his unfathomably large cock, as his hands moved smoothly. He must have cast a nonverbal Lubrication Charm, Bellatrix thought distantly.

"I told you to close your damned eyes," Voldemort snarled, and Bellatrix did. She tried to apologise, but he still had her Silenced. His magic was strong. It wouldn't wear off easily. She kept her eyes wrenched closed and desperately rubbed her thighs together. Her wrists were on fire; her hands were going numb. The nipple he'd abused was sore. She felt more exposed than she'd ever been. She listened to the slippery movement of Voldemort's hands on his cock, to the way he groaned a little every now and then. There was sudden silence, a ceasing in his gentle rocking above her, and then he grunted like an animal.

It wasn't hot; it was warm. It wasn't sticky, exactly. It was as if someone had spilled creamy soup all over her, tossing it in bursts. He'd done this to her before, but somehow it felt different right now. It was in her hair, she could tell. It was dripping from her forehead down over her eyebrow onto her cheekbone. It was on her lips, on her eyelashes.

" _Emancipare._ "

Bellatrix pulled her hands down as the Conjured ropes were Vanished, but as soon as she did, she felt Voldemort snatch her fingers and lace them through his. He pinned her hands beside her head and instructed her firmly,

"Knees up, all the way to you chest. Now, Bella."

She did as he ordered, knowing she was still Silenced and feeling far too much of his seed on her eyes to open them. She tried to cry out when he shoved his tip into her, when he began drilling her like they were parts of machinery. She tried to scream at the way he was stretching her, slamming into her cervix in a way she'd never thought possible. It burned, and it hurt, and she almost came right then and there.

For some reason, the intensity of it all was unbelievable. She was covered in his come. His hands had her wrists pinned down. He'd sucked so hard on her nipple that she thought he was going to take it clean off. And now he was slamming into her, his hips almost reaching hers as she took more of his length than she'd ever done.

And then it happened, like a bomb going off. Her ears rang and she saw spots behind her eyelids. Pleasure, ripping through her like parchment being torn, shooting through her veins like the hit of a drug. Voldemort's lips were beside her ear then, and his voice shook like mad as he whispered,

"There it is. I told you the little girl liked to play. My little wife… you like your husband's cock, don't you?"

He shoved hard into her, and Bellatrix tried in vain to screech in agony and bliss as she nodded. Voldemort touched his lips to her neck and murmured,

"Oh, you smell like it. You smell like my come; it's all over your face, and you _like_ that, don't you? Don't you, Bella?"

She just nodded again, and his hands tightened on her wrists. She could feel him coming inside of her then, and he collapsed onto her in a way that left her utterly unable to breathe. He seemed to come forever, and it was leaking out all over the place even as he throbbed inside of her. She couldn't breathe; she couldn't think. She screamed with all of the power that she had, and finally she overcame his Silencing Charm.

"Off, off, _off!_ I can't… breathe…"

Her voice was quiet and distant, but Voldemort chuckled as he sat up and pulled himself out of her body. Bellatrix felt an enormous river of his seed follow him out, and she gasped in shock at the feel of it gurgling from her body. Voldemort released her wrists and sat back, staring between her legs and admiring his work. He tipped his head and said rather haughtily to her,

"Not bad for a man my age, is it? Hmm?"

"My Lord…" Bellatrix tried to speak properly, feeling thirsty and fighting through the sensation of her eyes burning, "What you do is… not like… anyone else… in all the world… regardless of age."

He laughed a little and reached for his wand.

"Oh, you good, good girl. _Scourgify… Scourgify Duo… Tergeo… Tergeo… Scourgify…_ "

It took five solid minutes until they and the sheets were devoid of their fluids, of their sweat and the smell of sex. Bellatrix glanced down and asked in a dazed voice,

"Your shirt's gone."

"So are your knickers. I Vanished them, or didn't you notice?" Voldemort sounded almost bored as he rose from the bed, utterly naked, and went out into the sitting-room. He came back with two glasses of water, and Bellatrix gratefully gulped hers down. Voldemort Banished the glasses back out and then pulled on flannel pyjama trousers. He reached for a long-sleeved flannel tunic that he sometimes wore under winter robes, and he tossed it to Bellatrix with a pair of her knickers from the wardrobe.

"There," he said. "That's mine, too. You like to wear my clothes to bed, don't you?"

Suddenly Bellatrix understood absolutely everything. She smiled demurely as she pulled the tunic over her head, and she brought a fistful up to her nose and breathed in.

"Even when they launder it, I can still smell and feel you in it," she told him. "Sleeping in your shirts is rather like having you embrace me all night."

"Well," Voldemort said, climbing beneath the blankets and encouraging her to do the same, "I can also embrace you all night, you know. There's precisely nothing keeping me from holding you until the sun comes up."

"And will you… Master?" Bellatrix slithered up against him and put her palms to his chest. She raised her eyes to him, keeping her gaze wide and youthful. "Will you hold me all night?"

"Yes, because you are mine, and once I take possession of something, I don't easily let go," Voldemort said meaningfully. Bellatrix nodded and promised him,

"I'll eat a little more tomorrow. I'll start looking better. I promise."

He huffed out a breath and bent to kiss her forehead as he said, "You ought to look _healthier_ , to be certain, but… but you are always beautiful to me, Bellatrix. Do you know the first moment I actually realised you pretty? Not when I started making a habit of staring, but when I first thought… _Merlin's Beard, that witch is very, very pretty_? Do you know when it was?"

"No." Bellatrix kissed his chest. "Tell me."

She was being insubordinate, she knew, but she'd just spent a good deal of time being remarkably submissive. He seemed to appreciate the balance as he pronounced,

"Christmas, 1968. You had only just come of age; you were still in school. You had your hair tumbling over your shoulders and you had on a gown that was entirely too revealing for a girl your age. You wanted attention. Well, you got it. I stared at you for ten minutes before I reminded myself that you were home from school on holiday. I tried not to stare for a good long while after that."

Bellatrix laughed a little and said, "I remember that gown. I Transfigured it to be lower cut once I got to the party. Thought my parents were going to murder me when we got home."

"Yes, well. Look at you now," Voldemort said crisply. "Pride of the House of Black. Snuggled up with the Dark Lord, his rings on the hand he regrew for you. Your Horcrux beside his, your body ensconced in his clothes and his arms. In love with him, him in love with you. Look what happened to that scandalous little creature. You're the Dark Lady."

"Well, then, I suppose it's a good thing I lowered the neckline of that gown," Bellatrix said softly, feeling a little overwhelmed. She pressed her ear to Voldemort's chest and listened to his heart pick up a little speed.

"No. I… I would have found you irresistible eventually. You were born to be mine. Not just as a Death Eater, mind you. You were born to be here, in my bed, with me. Like this."

"Then I am very glad I was born, My Lord." Bellatrix kissed his chest again, and then she curled more firmly against him and shut her eyes, falling quickly and heavily into the abyss of sleep.

 **Author's Note: Whew! Some tart lemonade, no? Voldemort needed some reassurance. ;) Thank you for reading. If you get a quick moment to review, I'd really appreciate it.**


	3. Chapter 3

"The current financial situation is quite secure, My Lord," said Cygnus Black where he sat opposite Lord Voldemort in his office. Cato Burke observed the meeting carefully; this was only his third day on the job. Cygnus pulled out a parchment and said to both Voldemort and Cato, "We have secured financial investments - all cloaked in secrecy, of course - in wizarding nations that value Blood Purity. In this way, we protect ourselves against the inevitable economic instability that wizarding Britain will endure during the transition period."

"The transition period," Cato repeated, looking curious. "You mean the era during which the Ministry shifts from its current form to control by the Dark Lord. What specific instabilities might arise?"

"Shops closing and reopening under new, approved management," Voldemort informed him. "Vaults at Gringotts sitting untouched by those purged - at least until we clear them out ourselves. The value of the British Galleon will dip at first as other nations are uncertain, and then once confidence rises and we take coins out of circulation, we'll be able to stabilise things. Have I got it right, Cygnus?"

"Quite right, Master," said the father-in-law of the Dark Lord. He turned to Cato and said, "We have a protocol in place. Sixteen steps to follow as things progress. I'll want you to memorise the plan in its entirety."

"Yes, sir," Cato nodded obediently. Voldemort sighed. Cato Burke was more than capable and was exceedingly well-behaved. But for some reason, Voldemort couldn't help imagining a tender little Bellatrix kissing the boy.

But, then, that was foolish, for Bellatrix had never been a tender little thing. She'd probably been vicious then, too. Why a soft boy like Cato had wanted her was a mystery that he couldn't quite figure. Why Bellatrix would have wanted a gentle-spoken little boy like Cato was even more mysterious.

"Do I have your permission to go ahead with that, My Lord?" he heard Cygnus Black III ask, and Voldemort cleared his throat, pretending he'd been paying attention as he reached for the parchment on the table. He saw then what Cygnus was referencing - buying up a broomstick company in Japan.

"Yes. That will be fine. Thank you both for your service. Dismissed." Voldemort watched as the two wizards rose and then bowed respectfully before leaving his office. Voldemort shut his eyes and breathed deeply for a long moment, wishing he could rid his mind of the idiotic jealousy he'd been feeling.

Fourteen. Fifteen. She'd been a child. Cato had been a child. She'd married Rodolphus; she'd _fucked_ Rodolphus. Why did Voldemort care about this, even one little bit?

Right on cue, there was a call from outside his office. Her voice, clear and confident, cried out,

"Master, will you open the door? Hands are full, wand's tucked away…"

He frowned and stood, striding across the office until he reached the door. He pulled it open to see Bellatrix standing there with a large tray full of food in her arms.

"I ought to have Levitated it," she said, walking past him into his office without permission. "No idea why I didn't. I wish I could do wandless magic as well as you. Anyway, I've brought you lunch, because it's two in the afternoon and I happen to know you haven't eaten since seven this morning."

She set the tray down on his desk, and Voldemort smiled a little to himself as he shut the door.

"Well, you'll be needing to eat, too," he insisted, and Bellatrix put her hands on her hips.

"I've found that eating little snacks every few hours is much easier. My appetite is still barely there; I can't binge on large meals. I'm trying to… you know, munch."

"Munch." Voldemort nodded and moved to sit at his desk. Bellatrix pulled the lid off his plate, and he breathed in the warm scent of the stewed beef and onions with bread to sop up the juices. His eyebrows went up when he saw the glass of dark stout.

"Beer," he noted. "You've brought me beer."

"I can get you something different, if you'd like," Bellatrix said, and before Voldemort could answer, he scowled. She had a little bowl in her hands - a bowl of sliced carrots. She was picking up the carrot slices one at a time and chewing them, and he informed her,

"Eating carrot slices is not going to help you get healthy again."

Bellatrix set down the little bowl and shrugged. "Master, I'm doing my best."

"I know." He nodded and dragged his knuckles over his forehead. "I know. It's not as though I can consult a Healer about it. I don't like the fact that your hunger has not returned, and, in fact, the problem seems to be getting worse. I won't have you waste away because of this, Bellatrix."

She stared at her carrots, her face suddenly seeming terrifying in how bony and angular it was. She raised her eyes and said,

"Imperius me."

Voldemort's mouth fell open, ready to protest, but then he realised she was onto something. He cleared his throat and reached for her bowl of carrots, and he dumped them onto his own plate. He used his spoon to bring some beef and carrots into her bowl, along with a little bread. It wasn't much, but it was far more than she'd been eating. He passed the bowl and spoon to her, and Bellatrix looked like she was going to be sick. Voldemort aimed his wand at her, waited for eye contact, and focused every bit of magical energy he had.

" _Imperio_."

Green smoke washed over Bellatrix, and she blinked a few times, but he could feel her mind resisting the Curse. Well, of course her mind would be too strong for this. She was a remarkably powerful Occlumens, an easy killer. Voldemort gnawed his lip, concentrated hard, and said more firmly,

" _Imperio!_ "

This time the spell took hold, and Bellatrix stared at him with a blankness in her eyes that made Voldemort very uncomfortable. He picked up his fork and instructed her,

"Eat the food, Bellatrix. All of it."

"Yes, Master."

He glanced up to her a few times as he ate his half of the bread, a few bites of the stewed beef, and a few of the raw carrot slices. He took a deep draught of his beer and saw that Bellatrix was physically struggling to bring the spoonfuls of food to her mouth. Her mind was instinctively resisting the order.

" _Imperio_ ," Voldemort barked, snapping his wand toward her and hurtling his power straight into her mind. She finally sped up her eating, and soon enough the little bowl of food was empty. Bellatrix looked like she was going to cry, and as she set the bowl down, she noted morosely,

"I feel ill."

"This is how you're going to get better," Voldemort informed her. " _Finite Incantatem._ "

She gave no indication that she'd been released from the spell other than to push her empty bowl away from her and cover her mouth with her hand. Voldemort pursed his lips and quickly incanted,

" _Nonemesis._ "

"Thank you." Bellatrix's whisper was barely audible as he took away her body's urge to reject the food. Voldemort shook his head and reiterated,

"I don't like this one bit. Something's wrong."

"Well," Bellatrix said softly, "I think it's safe to say that the magic I performed would have consequences. You're too strong to have borne them, probably."

"No. This is… you will need to do this at least once a day, Bellatrix, until I feel like you're healthy again. You get this thin, this malnourished, and your organs will fail on you. The goal is not to use the Horcrux within a few weeks of making it, you understand."

Bellatrix just nodded, steeling herself and saying very firmly,

"I will do whatever it takes, Master. Whatever you need of me."

* * *

"Bella?"

She turned from the bathroom mirror, her toothbrush going still in her hand as she peered around the threshold of the doorway. Her grandmother Irma Black had died, and today was the funeral. Lord Voldemort was buttoning up his solemn black robes, and he studied Bellatrix carefully.

"Yesh, Mashter?" Bellatrix spit out the foam in her mouth and rinsed, deciding that she'd go without makeup today.

"You're looking… a little better." He stepped into the bathroom and pulled her left arm out. She felt self-conscious as he studied it, but at last he said, "Still not back to where you were, and you were always quite slim. But at least now I'm not afraid you'll dissolve into thin air on me."

She smiled a little at him, and she asked, "Will you help me tailor my dress just a little? I'm rubbish with the spells. I don't want it to be hanging off me. People will worry."

"Of course." Voldemort helped her into her long-sleeved black caped dress, and as Bellatrix arranged a black mourning veil over her curls, she could hear him muttering spells to tighten up the stitching and seams. He knew everything, she thought. It felt like there was absolutely nothing that he didn't know how to do.

"Do me a favour," Voldemort murmured from where he stood behind Bellatrix. She pushed pins in to secure the black lace veil to her hair, and she answered,

"Anything."

"There will be food at the funeral. I don't care what it is that you eat, but I want you to count seven bites. You must eat at least seven bites of something. Do you understand?"

Bellatrix turned around and frowned, but she nodded. Voldemort bent to touch his lips to her forehead.

"Were you close with her?" he asked. "With your grandmother?"

"She was awful," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort snorted a little laugh. Bellatrix smirked and shook her head. "One time when I was five, I picked some flowers in the garden at her country house. I was out playing alone. No one was, you know, _supervising the small child._ Anyway, I picked some flowers, and she got so angry that she left me lying in the garden in a Full Body-Bind Curse for two hours."

"What?" Voldemort seemed utterly shocked, and he shook his head madly. "Over some damned flowers? They weren't even that bad at the orphanage, for Merlin's…"

He froze then, and Bellatrix frowned a little as she whispered, "Orphanage?"

His cheeks went crimson, and he moved quickly away from her. "Another world. A life that's been snuffed out. It doesn't matter. Let's go."

Bellatrix stayed where she stood. "You grew up in… in an orphanage?"

"It's none of your business," Voldemort snarled, and Bellatrix recoiled in a little bit of fear. Voldemort's face softened slightly, and he wrenched his eyes shut. He hesitated for a long moment and then finally said in a snakelike hiss, "My mother was a member of the House of Gaunt - old and noble and pure, but on the verge of extinction. She died when I was born. My father had no interest in me. I was raised by Muggles in an orphanage, yes. Or, at least, Tom Riddle was."

He opened his eyes and shrugged, his face twisting a little.

"Happy now? Now that you know that filthy little secret?"

Bellatrix's heart raced in her chest, and she shook her head a little as she stepped toward him and said,

"I am your wife and the most loyal servant you could ever have, Master. You needn't keep secrets from me for fear of my judgment. There could never be anything shameful about a wizard like you. Just the same, I will only ever know those things which you deem me worthy of knowing."

He pushed her veil away from her face as he neared her, holding her cheeks in his hands as he studied her eyes. His own gaze was flickering, and there was a sudden flash of scarlet that came over his irises. Bellatrix flinched beneath his touch as his eyes went back to normal. He swallowed hard and told her,

"You know, Bellatrix… I really am exceptionally fond of you. Now. Let's go. A very awful witch is being buried today."

 **Author's Note: Whoops - he let a little too much slip! Now that that's happened, what else will he decide to tell her? She knows so little of his past. How much will he decide she should know? And will Bellatrix's body get back to rights, or is the damage from the Horcrux permanent? Hm… Thank you so very much for reading, and a huge thanks to those who have already left encouragement as I begin this fic.**


	4. Chapter 4

There were many sensations to be expected when one attended a funeral. Grief, sorrow, compassion… those were all perfectly acceptable things to experience at a funeral.

Arousal, Lord Voldemort thought, was probably far less acceptable.

For some reason, his mind was busy cooking up thoughts of Bellatrix, and every time he glanced over to her, she looked so damnably pretty in her black lace veil and simple caped dress that he firmed up by the moment. He scowled and desperately tried to listen to Pollux Black talk about his wife Irma.

"She was a woman who knew right from wrong," Pollux was saying solemnly in the formal dining room of the Black home at Grimmauld Place. "She was a woman who became a true and shining member of the House of Black, who brought pride upon our noble family…"

The burial ceremony at the Black family's country home had already taken place, followed by a sorrowful reception. Now, Irma's closest family members had gathered at Grimmauld Place - Irma's ancient mother-in-law Violetta was seated beside Cygnus Black III and Druella Black. Beside them was Narcissa Black, and beside her was Walburga Black with her two sons, Sirius and Regulus and their father Orion. Bellatrix sat beside Voldemort, who, as the Dark Lord, took one end of the table. The widowed Pollux took the other. There had been many dozens at the more public funeral, but this was an intimate affair.

They had eaten a delicious fudge cake and had conducted toasts in Irma's honour. Now Pollux was going on and on about his wife. Finally, at very long last, Pollux sat, and everyone began talking in quiet conversations. Voldemort shut his eyes as Bellatrix got swept up into a conversation with her young cousin Regulus. He tried desperately to rid himself of the feeling sweeping over him.

He was entirely too old for this. This - a spontaneous erection spurred on by uncontrolled lust - was the burden of pubescent boys, not Dark wizards. He was in his forties. He had grey in his hair. But his wife was still weeks away from her twenty-first birthday, and she lit fires in his veins that he couldn't quite put out.

"Bella," Voldemort whispered, softly enough that only she could hear him. She flicked her eyes away from Regulus, and she seemed to immediately read the urgency in his eyes. She frowned a little and feigned a shaking sigh as she told Regulus,

"Sorry. I just… this is a difficult day. I could use a little… excuse me. My Lord, would you…?"

"Yes." Voldemort rose, prompting everyone else in the dining room to do the same. Bellatrix walked very briskly from the space, and as Voldemort followed her, he heard Narcissa say,

"She doesn't want to cry in front of anyone, I'll bet."

Voldemort followed Bellatrix out into the ground floor corridor and around the corner to a little library. He shut the door and moved quickly to lean back against the books. He wrenched his eyes shut and whispered,

"For fuck's sake."

"My Lord, what's the matter?" Bellatrix asked, and he blindly reached for her hand. He smashed it against his crotch, and she gasped when she felt that he was hard. She started to drag her fingers along his rigid length, worming her way beneath the layers of his robes until she was stroking him through the thin linen of his trousers.

"What's got you like this?" Bellatrix asked in a purr, and Voldemort choked back,

"You."

"Me? I didn't do anything." She was taunting him now. He should scold her for taunting him, he thought. But her hand felt so good on him, and he found himself whispering almost apologetically,

"Sometimes it just happens. I mean to say, very young men sometimes… this hasn't happened in decades, but you, Bella… _you_ … oh."

She was stroking him very purposefully now, and his eyes sprang open to see an unquenched thirst in her wide black eyes. They flashed red for a brief moment, and he grunted.

"Let me help you," she whispered, her thumb drawing lines around his tip through his underwear and trousers. Voldemort bucked his hips against her a little, and Bellatrix licked her lip like he was a dessert to be devoured as she mumbled, "Just let me get on my knees. It'll only take a moment."

"Bella." He tangled his fingers in her hair, and she leaned forward and let her breath be hot and slow through the chest of his robes. Her hands were drawing him ever nearer to that phantom edge, even through the fabric, and he informed her,

"If you don't stop, I'm going to finish right here."

"There are spells to clean up that sort of mess, My Lord." Bellatrix raised her eyes to him and leaned harder against his chest. Her fingers flew up and down his shaft, lingering around his tip through his underwear and trousers. Closer and closer he came to breaking, everything going hot and tight inside of him. His breath was just a series of erratic, shallow pants now. His fingers tightened in Bellatrix's hair, and he let his eyes flutter shut.

Suddenly his instinctive Legilimency made him very aware of a soul, a mind, just outside the door.

"Bella, stop," he whispered, feeling the mind grow closer. He panicked then, wrenching Bellatrix's hands away and shoving his robes closed as he hissed, "Stop, stop, _stop!_ "

The door opened, and Bellatrix gasped as she whirled around, still flush up against Voldemort's body. They were both panting now, both red-cheeked and breathless and obviously flush with want. At least, Voldemort thought, Bellatrix was standing in front of him, blocking his father-in-law's view of Voldemort's blazing erection.

"Cygnus," Voldemort said, hearing the shake in his own voice. He could tell at once that Cygnus Black III knew approximately what he'd walked in on. Bellatrix wasn't distraught and she wasn't crying. She was cradled up against her husband, against the Dark Lord, both of them looking and sounding like they'd been mid-coitus. But Voldemort insisted,

"Bella wasn't comfortable being emotional… in front of the others."

"Oh. That's all right, dear," Cygnus said to his daughter. Bellatrix asked softly,

"Did you need something, Daddy?"

"I… erm… I had just come for a photo album. You know, the one from your Gran's seventieth birthday party. It's only… Sirius and Regulus were so young then; it was six years ago, so they barely remember. I was going to show them the photos."

"Oh. All right." Bellatrix took a half step away from Voldemort, but he wrenched at the back of her robes and held her to keep her covering the evidence of the erection that still hadn't quite faded. Cygnus looked very embarrassed and then gestured to the bookshelves.

"It's… erm… it's behind you. I'll just… _Accio_ Seventieth Birthday Photo Album."

A thick leather book came flying from over Voldemort's head, and Cygnus caught it. He made a move to leave, but then he thumbed through the photo album and carefully approached his daughter. Voldemort tightened his hand on the back of Bellatrix's black dress, and she took the half step back so she was right in front of him again. Voldemort had never been more grateful for their height difference; she didn't even reach his shoulder, so he could just stare over her head at Cygnus.

"S-See?" Cygnus asked anxiously, pointing his finger to a page he held open. "Here's you, Bella. In the gardens at the country house. Wasn't she lovely, My Lord?"

Voldemort frowned, for Bellatrix was being deliberately precocious in the moving photograph. She was holding a daisy, standing on a neatly manicured lawn as the skirt of an off-the-shoulder dress blew around her legs. Her curls blew, too, and she smirked. She'd been this age when she'd been with Cato Burke. She did look like a child, though a child on the cusp of womanhood. She looked like a girl who didn't yet know how to be an adult, how to be grown, though she clearly wanted to be taken seriously as a seductress, as a threat. But she was just a child. Somehow, it put Voldemort's mind at ease, thinking she'd been that skinny, doe-eyed little creature when she'd had a childhood romance with his newest Death Eater. What sort of substance could have existed in that sort of thing? None. He'd been agonising over children.

"Well, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, looking up and giving him a meaningful little smile. "Wasn't I lovely?"

"You have been been unfathomably lovely, Bella," Voldemort said, losing himself for a moment in her eyes as her father cleared his throat and shut the photo album.

"Right. I'll just… I'll go show this to Sirius and Regulus," he said, and Voldemort nodded as he kept staring at Bellatrix.

"Shut the door behind you, Cygnus."

"Yes, Master," Cygnus replied. Voldemort called after him,

"My condolences, by the way. On the loss of your mother."

He kept staring at Bellatrix, and at long last, there came a quiet reply.

"Thank you, Master."

Once he'd gone and the door shut, Bellatrix's face broke into a wide grin. Then she started to laugh a little, and finally she was cackling, fisting her hands on the chest of Voldemort's robes as she whispered,

"Oh, we're awful. We're terrible."

"Stop laughing," Voldemort commanded, though he couldn't help smiling himself. "This is… we are at a funeral, Bellatrix. You stop laughing right this… oh, just kiss me."

He bent and took her face in his hands, touching his lips to hers and deepening the kiss as she let out an eager little moan. He pulled away from her, and she promised,

"I'll take very good care of you later. At the Manor."

"At the Manor," he repeated. He sighed, wondering whether to tell her the truth. He'd tracked down the wealthy Muggle who had bought the Riddle house. He'd Imperiused Frank Bryce, the caretaker. He'd cast all manner of spells and enchantments around the house to make Muggles ignore its existence entirely. Voldemort met Bellatrix's eyes and said seriously,

"I need my own base. I can't be living in an apartment in someone else's manor. It's fine if meetings and such happen at Malfoy Manor, but we need our own home."

"We do?" Bellatrix seemed surprised, and she blinked a few times. Voldemort nodded.

"There is a manor house that I've obtained. It… erm… it needs some renovation. You can help with that; you've a good eye for aesthetics."

"A manor of our own?" Bellatrix smiled and reached up to push his hair from his forehead. "Where is it?"

"It's…" Voldemort hesitated, remembering the way he had accidentally let slip to her earlier about growing up in the orphanage. He gulped hard, thinking about how she'd lit him aflame with want just by existing, the way she'd been able to laugh at her own grandmother's funeral with him. He adored her, every little bit of her, and for some reason he was no longer afraid of her knowing… everything. He would never tell another soul any of this nonsense, but her… she could know it all, somehow.

"The manor belonged to a wealthy Muggle family," he said. "The Riddle family. It's on a hill outside Little Hangleton."

A little bit of realisation came over Bellatrix's face as she put the pieces together. She knew the village name; that was where her Horcrux was hidden. She was intelligent enough to figure out the rest. So he was unsurprised when she whispered,

"Your father's house."

"I killed him in that house," Voldemort said rather impulsively. He studied Bellatrix's face for shock, for horror, but she just nodded and said,

"That's why it needs renovation, then? It's been uninhabited?"

This was why he loved her. Because she could know this - that he'd murdered his Muggle father and had hidden their Horcruxes in his mother's dilapidated family shack - and she wouldn't think anything less of him. Bellatrix would worship him no matter what. She wasn't like the others. Voldemort dug his teeth into his bottom lip and shrugged.

"It's actually… it's quite a nice house, when it's fixed up properly. And I want it, because that wicked, awful Muggle man was the sorriest excuse for a father that… anyway. I killed him and his parents in the drawing room, and after the maid found them… the caretaker kept the grounds up, but the inside needs a little help. It could be grand. We'll work together to fix it up. I want it nice. I want it hidden. It is mine."

"Of course it is yours," Bellatrix nodded. "Everything is yours, Master."

"You most of all," he nodded, reaching for her hands and brushing his thumbs over hers, "and, tonight, at least, we'll still be in the Manor. And I will require some attention. Now. Let's go back into that dining-room, shall we?"

 **Author's Note: Oh, these two just can't keep their hands off each other… even at a funeral. Poor Cygnus. Haha. What will the Riddle House look like after HGTV: Wizarding Edition? Mwah hahaha… thank you for reading, and PLEASE do leave a review if you get a quick moment. Thank you!**


	5. Chapter 5

"Well. This is it."

Bellatrix couldn't speak as she followed Lord Voldemort over the threshold of his Muggle father's old manor home. It had been very carefully enchanted; the caretaker's memory had been wiped, and the villagers below would ignore this home's existence entirely.

But it was decrepit, to say the least. The wooden floor, upon which there was at least a centimetre of thick grey dust, creaked beneath Bellatrix's boot as she walked inside. A ragged maroon carpet runner went down a corridor to the right, which led into complete darkness. A stairwell before Bellatrix wound grandly up to the next level, but the newel post looked like a Muggle vandal had taken a sledgehammer to it. Bellatrix raised her eyes and saw a filthy crystal chandelier, hanging rather precariously and crookedly, a fair few pieces missing.

"It's… it's…"

"It's hideous," Voldemort nodded, "at least for now. The repairs will all be simple enough, I should think."

As if to make his point, he pulled his wand out and aimed it at the chandelier, and he incanted,

" _Crystallum Reparo… Reponerelucerna… Scourgify… Lumen Reparo… Metallum Reparo… Reponerelucerna… Scourgify. Incendio Lucernae._ "

Bellatrix watched in wonder as the electrical lights in the chandelier were replaced by wizarding-style wicked candles. The missing crystal bits reappeared, and all the crystal began to gleam and shimmer. The dark metal frame of the chandelier lost its patina of disrepair, its sheen of dust and knots of cobwebs. The chandelier hung straight again, and then suddenly all the wicks of the candles burst into flame, illuminating the ragged foyer with flickering, warm light.

"See?" Voldemort sounded almost casual as he threw a hand up toward the elegant, sizeable chandelier. "It won't be so bad. We'll have Abraxas send Dobby in to clean, to get rid of all the cobwebs and dust and dirt. You can go room by room and decide what sort of decorations you might like, and we'll make note of the needed spells. What do you think?"

It was almost comical then, how earnest he was. His chest rose and fell quickly, and Bellatrix realised he was looking for her approval. This house had been that of his filthy Muggle father, and he was asking Bellatrix - a member of one of the oldest and most noble wizarding houses - to live in it. She straightened her back, tipped her head up, and nodded.

"It won't be bad at all," she said confidently. "This chandelier's actually quite nice; I don't think I'll change it. I'd like to put marble down instead of the wood, but you'll want the quarried sort; it never looks right Conjured."

"Yes. There will be a number of things that need purchasing," Voldemort said, almost gently. "Make me a list, and I'll see that they're bought."

Bellatrix smiled a little at him and walked down the corridor, which had shadows cast upon it now by the chandelier. To the right was a large drawing room, and as she walked inside, she had an overwhelming sense of dread. She ignored it and stepped inside, staring at the peeling striped wallpaper and the heavy velvet curtains with their mouse-eaten tassels. She examined the mantle that had collapsed from above the fireplace and lay broken on the ground. She stared at the threadbare furniture, which looked like it had once been very expensive, and then she both felt and saw Voldemort step up beside her.

"I killed them in here," he murmured. "Right here in this room. My father and his parents. I killed them in this room."

Bellatrix raised her eyes to him. He was studying her reaction. Anyone else, she reckoned, would have screamed and run from him, from this accursed house and this horrifying wizard. But she just nodded, looked around, and took another step into the room.

"This burgundy is just dismal, even with cleaning," she said lightly. "I think a nice blue - almost a dark greyish blue - on the walls would be so much more pleasant. Crisp white trim, white furniture to keep it formal… white and grey marble round the fireplace. Wispy white curtains to let in loads of light… and a black grand piano there in the corner. What do you think, Master?"

She turned, her arms crossed over her chest and her chin tipped up almost defiantly. His eyes glistened a bit, and he quirked up half his mouth. He still couldn't believe that she so readily accepted - no, _liked_ \- the way he was. He nodded once and said again,

"I killed three people in this room. My own father."

"Is there a different colour you'd prefer for the walls, Master?" Bellatrix asked clinically, and Voldemort's smirk spread. He shoved his hands into his robe pockets, shook his head a little, and whispered,

"Oh, but I do love you, Bella. A dark greyish-blue will suit just fine."

"Wonderful," Bellatrix nodded. "Now, I'd like to see the upstairs; I've got brown and copper plans for a bathroom."

* * *

"Are you very certain you don't want some grand ball? We could dance."

Bellatrix laughed a little as she rinsed shampoo from the snarled curls that had become dusty and dirty in Little Hangleton. She stepped out of the water a bit and eyed Voldemort round the half door of the shower. Her birthday was in five days' time, and he'd been agonising over the celebration, she knew.

"The little dinner party you've planned is more than enough, My Lord. I don't like birthdays; I don't like the attention. Besides… twenty-one. What's so remarkable about that?"

"At least it's a woman's age," Voldemort mumbled, and Bellatrix knew what he meant. He was twenty-five years her senior. The farther she moved from her childhood, the less obscene what they had seemed. She smeared conditioning oil through her locks and let it sit, scrubbing at her body with soap and a rag. She rinsed it all as he asked, "Lamb with mint sauce, roast potato and parsnips… birthday cake. You'll eat five bites if I'm lucky, I know, but…"

"I can't see my ribs quite as clearly in the mirror," Bellatrix noted optimistically, shutting off the water. She started to step out of the shower and was grateful when Voldemort held a towel out to her. She was even more grateful when he used his his wand to dry her hair for her. She still pulled it into a braid for sleep, and as she started to tie it up, Voldemort came up behind her and shook his head at her in the mirror.

"I like it down," he reminded her, and she scoffed.

"It'll be a disaster in the morning," she said, but he pulled the tie from her fingers and flicked the towel off of her, staring at her naked body's reflection as he unfurled her curls.

Bellatrix felt something ignite when his gaze met hers in the mirror. Many times, she'd felt something powerful when she stared at him, but this was something different. This was like a flame taking hold to dry wood. It was like a bolt of lightning that left a conflagration after the flash.

"Master," Bellatrix whispered, and his fingers trembled as they slid up her ribcage.

"Not quite as bad," he mumbled, staring right at the reflection of her eyes. His hand cupped her breast and squeezed a little. "This feels… a little more… a little fuller…"

"Good," Bellatrix nodded. "I have been doing my best."

"I know," he said softly, and then he used his other hand to turn her around by the waist. He was fully clothed and she was fully naked, but for some reason, Bellatrix's mind wasn't on sex. It was on _him_ , on the very essence of him.

His eyes went red. This time the flash lasted a long moment. This time it wasn't dark burgundy; it was violent cherry red. He blinked a few times and whispered,

"Your eyes…"

"What is this?" Bellatrix asked, putting her palms to his chest. He shook his head, seeming just as amazed as she was by the connection that seemed to have taken hold. He used his shaking hands to hold her face, and he bent very slowly. He brushed his lips against hers, and for a very long moment, they just let their breath mingle. Warm, sweet and spicy, _him_. Bellatrix breathed him in, her fingers cinching on his robes.

At some point he took her hand and led her from the bathroom. At some point after that, he pushed her up onto the bed and peeled off his outer robe, unbuttoning his trousers and pulling himself out. When he pushed into her, his eyes locked on hers, it was full and stretching, but the pressure didn't hurt. It felt so good that she gasped, but she barely moved. She just stared at him, completely unable to look away. His eyes flashed red again, and somehow she knew as he started pumping his hips that he was thinking of the moment in the Riddle house, the moment when he'd told Bellatrix that he'd killed three people in the drawing-room and she'd spoken of paint colours and curtains.

He moved them until they were on their sides, her legs laced through his, their bodies tangled vines. He kissed her, and Bellatrix let her eyes flutter shut as she lost all sense of time. Full, pushing, pulling. Warm, delicious. He master around her and in her, really inside of her this time. She cradled his face in her hand and felt the throb of her magic blending with his all of a sudden. She'd felt this before, the day she'd married him. This time it kept going, it lasted through a long, long kiss and endless lovemaking. Eventually he came, quietly and calmly, and Bellatrix's body clenched gently around his manhood as he found his completion.

Then they lay there, messy and panting silently, staring and staring.

The sun went down outside the window, and darkness took over the bedroom. At least an hour passed, Bellatrix reckoned, but neither of them said anything. Finally, at long, long last, the trance seemed to lift a little, and reality settled back over her.

"My Lord?" she asked finally, "What… what was…?"

"I don't think I want to know," Voldemort said a bit firmly. "I have absolutely no reason to keep it from happening again. So."

Bellatrix blinked slowly, exhausted all of a sudden. She cradled more tightly against him and asked,

"Please, will you hold me?"

"Bella," he whispered, encouraging her to get under the blankets with him, "If I had things my way, I'd hold you and not ever let go. I fell in love with you all over today in the house today. You do know that, don't you?"

She lifted her eyes to him and stared through the darkness.

"It'll be perfect," she whispered, "and it belongs entirely to you. Just like me. I belong entirely to you, too. Everything is yours."

"Good, good girl." Voldemort kissed her forehead and held her so tightly it seemed he was afraid she'd tumble off an unseen cliff if he let her go. "Bella…"

At some point they fell asleep, and Bellatrix dreamed of a world where everyone was universally terrified and in awe of the great, unquestioned Lord Voldemort. And she was at his side, a few steps behind him, their fingers laced together. At night they went to the manor she'd decorated and made love in the stour black four-poster bed.

When Bellatrix blinked her eyes open in the grey light of the morning, feeling rested and happy, Voldemort was still asleep. She stared at him, at the way his face was still so serious and severe even in sleep. She bent to brush her lips against his cheekbone, and she could tell the gesture immediately woke him. He kept his eyes shut, but his lips curled up a little, and he tipped his head a little against the pillow.

"Mmm…" he hummed, his eyes still shut, "so my Bella is real. Not just a dream."

"No, Master," she whispered. "I'm here. I'll always be here."

 **Author's Note: Yay, fluff! Need that every now and then, no? But things can't be blissful forever. Is someone going to make trouble at Bellatrix's birthday dinner? Ruh-roh. Thank you for reading. PLEASE leave a comment if you get a quick moment.**


	6. Chapter 6

"I should like to make a toast, if I may."

Lord Voldemort rose slowly, and the others around the table stood with him. At Bellatrix's insistence, he'd gathered what he considered to be a pitifully small group - her mother and father, her sister Narcissa, Abraxas and Cerda Malfoy, and their son Lucius. And so there were only eight of them gathered round the dining-room table at Malfoy Manor, and now they had lamb with mint sauce and roast potato before them. A fruity red elf-made wine had been served to those present. Now Voldemort raised his glass, and everyone followed suit.

"Though my wife considers this day to be of little import," he began, looking down to where Bellatrix stood anxiously beside him, "I fear I must disagree with her most vehemently. This is the day upon which she came into the world - shrieking in protest, I suspect, Druella."

Druella Black smiled warmly and nodded, and even Bellatrix couldn't help but laugh a little at that. Voldemort sighed.

"Twenty-one years ago today, our Dark Lady was born. And I have been fortunate enough to know _of_ her for a good amount of that time. I watched her be a disobedient rascal of a child, a gangly and defiant adolescent, and then a fearfully powerful woman. And I married her when our heroic comrade Rodolphus fell, not only because I loved her, but because I knew that she would make a suitable augmentative partner for the Dark Lord. She is more than any of us can imagine. Bellatrix. I adore you, now more than ever, but not nearly so much as I will in the years to come. Happy birthday."

"Happy birthday!" said Druella Black enthusiastically, and Narcissa and the others followed along. Narcissa was a seventh-year student at Hogwarts, but she'd been allowed home for the weekend, along with Lucius Malfoy, with a special dispensation, since Abraxas Malfoy was on the Board at Hogwarts. Abraxas would be escorting them back to Hogsmeade after the dinner party, at which point they'd be picked up by Horace Slughorn at the school's gates.

Voldemort sipped his wine and sat slowly as people began to take up conversation. Lucius and his father chatted for a moment, and Cygnus seemed engaged in discussion with both Cerda Malfoy and his own wife. Narcissa Black started talking to Bellatrix, and Voldemort watched as Bellatrix pushed her mint sauce around and slowly spooned it into her mouth a little at a time. He frowned, cutting into his own lamb and chewing it.

"Eat a potato," he murmured at last, but Bellatrix acted like she hadn't heard him. He scowled more deeply. She'd heard him. He picked up his wine and swigged it very deeply.

"My Lord," Abraxas Malfoy said, "Lucius here says his good friend Algar Mulciber has become engaged just this past week."

"He got down on one knee right in the Great Hall, sir," Lucius Malfoy said. "It was… well, if he wanted attention, he got it."

"And to whom was Mulciber's eldest son proposing?" Voldemort asked lightly, finding himself mildly irritated that his permission had not been sought on the matter. Lucius hesitated, seeming to sense that Voldemort really knew nothing about this and was annoyed. He cleared his throat a bit and said,

"Erm… to Zahara Shacklebolt, Master."

"Bella," Voldemort snapped, and Bellatrix's face whirled away from her sister's. He frowned. "I thought you said Zahara Shacklebolt was with Cato Burke."

"I thought she was," Bellatrix said simply. Narcissa shook her head vehemently.

"Oh, no. They broke up last January. It was too difficult, with Zahara finishing up school and Cato out in the real world. She started up with Algar Mulciber, and he just proposed last week!"

"Yes, I've heard," Voldemort sneered. Bellatrix's cheeks coloured, and she shrugged.

"I'm not certain how or why I'm meant to keep track of everyone else's love lives," she mumbled, and then she speared a potato and picked it up, nibbling off the end before setting it down.

"Our boy Cato is on the prowl, don't you worry!" Cygnus Black laughed heartily as he set down his knife and fork. "You wouldn't know it from his kindly disposition, but the boy has quite the appetite for young witches. I had to tell him just the other day, I said, _Cato, just because they think you're a nice boy doesn't mean you should make dirty women of them._ Eh? Ha."

He chewed another bite of lamb then, and somehow conversations started back up. After the lamb, a white cake with chocolate accents appeared in the centre of the table. Druella black used her wand to light twenty-one candles, and Voldemort stayed sitting and did not sing as everyone picked a different key in which to wish Bellatrix a happy birthday.

Bellatrix flicked her eyes to Voldemort from where she stood, her face so pretty in the light of all the candles that Voldemort's breath hitched and he felt a little ill for a moment. She shut her eyes, made her wish, and then blew out the candles. Everyone clapped as Druella Vanished the candles and started slicing up and doling out pieces.

Bellatrix only seemed to realise that everyone was waiting for her to take the ceremonial first bite when a silence fell over the room. She parted her lips and looked around in surprise, then used her spoon to take a tiny little bite of cake and frosting. She looked unwell at having been made to do so. Everyone else tucked into their cake, and Voldemort huffed. He looked Bellatrix up and down and gnawed his lip. She'd backtracked on weight. Her appetite had been essentially gone since making the Horcrux. He would not let her waste away because of this, because of her Horcrux. He would not lose her to starvation.

He found himself very annoyed by everything just then. The whiny sound of Cerda Malfoy's voice, the obnoxious way Narcissa Malfoy had curled her hair into tight ringlets that shook whenever she spoke, the fact that Cato Burke was not only _not_ attached to Zahara Shacklebolt, but apparently quite liked to play the field. Then there was the matter of Bellatrix not eating,

"I want to see you take three bites of the damned cake. Right now." His voice snapped out before he could stop himself, and everyone in the room went silent. Bellatrix gazed at him in wide-eyed horror, picking up her spoon as she whispered,

"Master…"

She was warning him, he knew. He would look unstable. But this was serious, and he'd had more than enough of accommodating the issue.

"You ate the mint sauce but no lamb, approximately twelve crumbs' worth of a potato, and half a spoonful of cake. It's your damned birthday dinner, Bellatrix; eat some of the fucking food, will you?"

He never swore like that, at least not in front of his subordinates. It made him seem crass and ordinary, so he didn't do it. But he swore now, and Bellatrix's eyes welled. Down the table, Cygnus Black III said softly,

"Bella, dear, you do seem to have lost a fair bit of weight, and we've all been -"

"I do not require your input, Cygnus," Voldemort barked, watching as his father-in-law shrank back into his seat and nodded apologetically. Voldemort crossed his arms over his chest and ordered Bellatrix,

"Three bites of cake. Now."

She started to cry softly then, digging her spoon into the cake as it shook so ferociously that the china plate clattered. She brought the bite of cake to her mouth as her sister and her mother watched with hands clapped to their faces. Cerda Malfoy looked away, obviously uncomfortable. Abraxas and Lucius Malfoy stared at their hands folded on the table. Bellatrix swallowed the bite of cake and took another one, smaller this time, and after she'd eaten it, she complained,

"I can't. I just can't. Please, My Lord…"

He could have Imperiused her right there, right there in front of everyone, to eat the damned food. But instead he flew to his feet and informed her,

"I'll give you your birthday gift later, after I've drilled you into the sheets a few times. Abraxas, thank you for hosting. Goodnight."

Then he walked quickly from the sorry remnants of the dinner party, leaving a small crowd of horrified followers in his wake.

* * *

She was silent when she came into the suite fifteen minutes later. She gave him a little bow, a little nod of submissive acknowledgement as she shut the door, and Voldemort did everything he could not to vomit. He'd already changed into black flannel pyjamas and a heavy black velvet robe with slippers. He licked his bottom lip as Bellatrix passed him by and went into the bedroom. He averted his eyes as she started to strip off her black silk cocktail dress, and he said softly,

"I lost my temper with you because I am terrified of the fact that eating is still a wretched enterprise in your mind. I know, intellectually, that you've no control over it. I do not like this feeling of fear, and I am afraid."

She just nodded, stripping off her dress, hanging it up, and mumbling a Cleansing spell upon it. She took off her bra and knickers and did the same before putting them into a drawer in the wardrobe. She pulled out fresh knickers and a very conservative, plain white nightgown. She walked wordlessly into the bathroom, and he heard her casting spells to remove her makeup and clean her teeth. A few moments later, she came out with her hair tied tightly into a braid. She climbed into the bed and leaned back against the pillows a little.

"Everyone wanted to comfort me, but they were all too afraid to say anything against you," she said quietly. "So everyone just went home."

"Bella." Voldemort approached her, sitting on the edge of the bed and shrugging a little. She looked angry then, and she spat,

"You wouldn't have become so upset about the food if you'd not learnt of Cato Burke being single and liking his women."

Voldemort's face went warm, and he admitted, "That was a surprise."

"But why does it matter?" Bellatrix demanded. "I am married to you. I am in love with you, bonded to you in some way neither of us understands. About the food… I am sorry. I have been trying. But to yell at me like that, to scold me like that in front of my own family and the Malfoys? To tell me you'd give me my gift after fucking me?"

Voldemort frowned. "I said after -"

"Yes, I heard you, and so did everyone else." Bellatrix's voice was a little shrill now. "You'll look unhinged. You'll look out of control of yourself and things around you. Please, My Lord, you mustn't ever let your emotion show to them like that again. It will damage what you're trying to achieve."

Voldemort's mouth fell open a little, and he blinked a few times. "I screamed at you and mentioned sex with you in front of your family, and your concern is my reputation as a leader?"

Bellatrix scoffed. "My concern is _always_ your success, Master. I worry that outbursts like that will… will put at risk everything you've already achieved."

"Bella." He was overwhelmed then. He'd had an apology ready for her, an explanation of why he'd been so cruel. Now all he could manage to do was whisper, "I am sorry."

"I have a plan," Bellatrix said firmly, folding her hands in her lap. When Voldemort looked confused, she said in a prim, tight voice, "Twice a day - in the morning and the evening - you will dose me with a small bit of Famishing Draught. If I still find it difficult to eat a little meal, you'll use the Imperius Curse to augment the situation. The rule is that I must finish a bowl of porridge and an apple each morning and a small cottage pie with a glass of milk each evening. That's far more than I'm eating now, and the nutrition is sound. If I can keep that much down, I suspect I will put on enough weight not to look so ill. We'll seek the assistance of a trusted Healer from St Mungo's for standard disordered eating and see if any of their long-term solutions assist in this particular case."

Voldemort's chest yanked for her, and when she found his eyes, he felt himself being drawn into her. His eyes burned with tears, a very unfamiliar and unwelcome sensation, and he reached to cradle Bellatrix's sunken face in his hand.

"I like your plan very much," he said. "And I do apologise for being so awful. You're right. I was upset over stupid things - over a boy you kissed when you were a child, and over you sister's idiotic curls."

"Her hair really was terrible tonight." Bellatrix smirked and covered Voldemort's hand with hers. She shook her head. "You don't need to give me any explanations or apologies, Master. Aside from the fact that I am due no apology or explanation from you about anything, ever, there is the fact that I understand precisely what happened and why it happened. Now. I have unfortunate news for you."

"You do?" Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow, and Bellatrix nodded.

"You told them all - including my poor scandalised mother - that you were going to _drill me into the sheets_. But I'm bleeding; the calendar's off for that, I'm afraid."

"Oh. Well, I shall just give you your gift, then." Voldemort pulled his wand out from its pocket in his velvet robe and aimed it at the living room, thinking, _Accio Birthday Gift._

A box wrapped in shining emerald paper came soaring into the bedroom. Voldemort handed it to Bellatrix, and she smiled a bit as she pulled on the black ribbon.

"Your boudoir at the Riddle house is all new, and I thought perhaps you might like new things for it."

Bellatrix grinned as she pulled off the lid of the box and found a variety of girlish things - expensive perfume in her favorite oceanic sort of scent, a set of silver-handled cosmetics brushes, a wide-toothed comb in sterling silver, and a hand-held silver mirror. Bellatrix seemed delighted by the way the mirror provided illumination around its own edges when she held it up. That was for putting makeup on with better lighting, the sales witch had told Voldemort when he'd summoned her privately.

"There's one more thing," Voldemort said softly, and when Bellatrix looked up from the mirror, her dark eyes curious, he told her, "We're going on a holiday. Just a short weekend; I can't stay away more than that. But we're going to my place on the Isle of Man to get away for a few days. We'll finish up the renovations on the house first; the holiday is scheduled for mid-October. I do promise to make devote my time there entirely to you. So… Happy birthday. And I am indeed very sorry for my behaviour tonight."

"It's all right, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. She squeezed at his hand a little and suggested, "The house needs a new name. Can't be _The Riddle House_ forever, can it?"

"No. I suppose not." Voldemort sucked his teeth and said, "Give it a name, then."

"Me?" Bellatrix swallowed hard. But then she shrugged and said simply, " _The Master's Manor_. They don't speak your name. Perhaps when they speak in hushed tones of the home they'll never be allowed to visit, it ought to simply be… _The Master's Manor_."

Voldemort found himself smiling a little, and he nodded once.

"You," he said, his throat very tight all of a sudden, "deserve so much better than what you got from me tonight. I've half a mind to steal a Time-Turner from the Ministry and change it all, but of course it doesn't work that way, and the damage is done."

"There is no damage," Bellatrix assured him confidently. "Once you'd gone, I told them I'd been struggling for some time with eating, that I couldn't make my mind do it. I told them you'd been doing absolutely everything you could to help me, but that you were growing frustrated and afraid by my body's and mind's intransigence. I told them that it was me who had caused you such enormous distress by only eating a few bites of food, and that you loved me so much that you simply couldn't bear it anymore. I apologised to all of them for creating such a problem. And then I came up here. But right before I left, I stood and I raised my wine glass, and I said very, very firmly, _To the Dark Lord_. And they repeated it, and they drank to you."

"Bella," Voldemort whispered, shaking his head. He leaned and touched his forehead to hers. "Bella… Bella."

"Yes?" she sounded half-playful and half-sorrowful, and he let his lips brush against hers as he whispered,

"You deserved better than what I did to you tonight. You deserve better because you are as close as a human can come to perfection. You are… you are everything to me."

He pulled away a little and read the shock on her face that he'd known he'd see. She'd said things like that to him before, that he was everything to her, because he was her lord and master. But she was everything. He wouldn't be able to go on right now without her. Somehow he knew that. And the stabbing, paralysing sort of fear he'd been experiencing recently over her health had been tempered with glee about their new home. His life with her was intrinsically tied to his success. He was madly in love with her. So he brushed his thumb under her eye and said again,

"I was awful to you. I am sorry. I was jealous. I was worried. And it's all because you are everything to me."

Bellatrix flicked her eyes down to the box on her lap. She picked up the silver comb and pulled her fingers around it.

"The Master's Manor will be done soon, and then we'll go to the Isle of Man, and perhaps you'll make me carrot and ginger soup like you did just after I… wait."

Her eyes went wide suddenly. Voldemort frowned.

"What?" He demanded, but Bellatrix shook her head and looked away. He tried to see where her mind was going. He pushed into her head with Legilimency, and despite her instantaneous and genius ability with Occlumency, she let him in. Her mind was remembering how his kisses and his touch had healed the physical pain after making the Horcrux. She was wondering if perhaps she might not find relief from the food issue with him somehow. If attention from him had taken away her pain, could there be something else between them that would cure her inability to eat?

Voldemort pulled out of her head and smirked.

"Clever little creature," he mumbled, packing up the box in her lap and Banishing it to the sitting-room. "I shall think on it. I shall come up with ways to attend to you in every way until you're guzzling my carrot and ginger soup."

She laughed a little, and she shook her head as she whispered,

"I love you, Master."

"Even after the cur I was in the dining room?" he asked cautiously, and she nodded.

"Yes. Even after that. Always."

 **Author's Note: Uh-oh. Voldemort let his jealousy and fear show in front of others. Not good! But Bella being Bella, she just had to cover for him. What will the finished product of The Master's Manor be like, and is Bellatrix onto something with the healing? They've had lots of sex, so it isn't that that'll cure the anorexic symptoms. What could Voldemort do that would help her? Hmm… ;) As always, thank you for reading. Please do review if you can. I appreciate it more than you know.**


	7. Chapter 7

"Merlin's beard. Well. This is… astonishing."

Bellatrix watched with pride as Voldemort walked into the master bathroom of their new house - well, his father's old house, but it was new to them. She'd decorated the room with walls of deep chocolate brown, and all the accessories were bright white. The deep bathtub was white porcelain with a handheld shower head. The white tile interior of the shower was accented with a glass door. The towels were all white, and a deep brown frame surrounded the mirror above the white porcelain pedestal sink.

Voldemort nodded his approval and turned from where he stood.

"This is remarkably well done. I like it very much. Now… the bedroom."

He stepped past Bellatrix into the master bedroom, and he smiled a little as he murmured,

"Feels an awful lot like home."

Like Hogwarts, he meant. The place that had become home for the both of them.

"That was rather my aim," she confessed, dragging her hand down the thick spiral of black wood on the four-posted bed. The bed curtains were emerald green like the walls, which were covered in a damask wallpaper. The accessories in the room were profoundly gothic - stout black furniture, black and grey carpets on the walnut floors. Everything about the room was very -

"Slytherin," Voldemort purred, coming up to stand before Bellatrix. He held her face in his hands and told her, "You've done very well. You've been eating well these last few days. You've made this house into a proper palace for me. And yesterday… well."

Yesterday she'd eliminated a Mudblood Ministry employee, sending the Ministry into yet another tizzy of panic. She smiled a little at Voldemort, and he informed her,

"I have done some research. There is a concept which exists in the Magical community in India - Tantric Magic."

"Tantric Magic," Bellatrix repeated curiously, and Voldemort nodded.

"It is the idea that by sending a little bit of one's essence to another, one might heal and bond. Strengthen. It's very mutual, very slow, very patient. I confess I am not a patient wizard, but I thought perhaps if I took some Draught of Peace first, I might slow myself down."

"Slow yourself down for what?" Bellatrix asked, feeling nervous now. Voldemort looked mildly anxious, moving to sit on the edge of the green brocade bedding.

"A Tantric kiss," he said, "is one where… you sit atop me, and we rock gently together, and just… breathe. You breathe in, and I breathe out, and back and forth and so on. Your arms wrapped round me. And that goes on for as long as we will it, or as long as it wills itself to do. Eventually, perhaps, I might enter you there, like that, sitting together, or perhaps not."

Bellatrix's lips parted, and began to feel a damp heat between her legs as she swallowed hard. Her voice was hoarse as she asked,

"What comes next?"

"Both of us, hopefully," he smirked, and Bellatrix couldn't help but laugh a little. Suddenly she looked around and realised where they were - in the bedroom of his new base - and she thought this would be an awfully fine place for all of the Tantric things he was describing.

"Bella," he said softly, and when she turned her eyes to him, his gaze was scarlet red. His chest rose and fell slowly, and his eyes finally went black again. Then he whispered, "Let's take our clothes off. Slowly."

She wordlessly unbuttoned the loose tunic she wore, and then she slid off her black leggings and kicked off her boots. She slithered out of her knickers and unclasped her black lace bra. When she looked up, Voldemort had made a neat pile of his clothes on the armchair near the bed. He was down to his tight black underwear, and when he pulled them off, his cock sprang out, looking almost comically large.

He was already hard, and Bellatrix just stared. How any man could have a piece of anatomy so oversized still evaded her. His was so thick, as thick as her little forearm, and just about as long. She still wondered sometimes how exactly it was that she ever managed to get him inside of her.

"Bellatrix?"

She looked up, and Voldemort shook his head a little.

"I won't… it's been some time, since anything has happened physically between us."

"It's been nine days, Master," Bellatrix said, but Voldemort scowled.

"I won't be able to spend an hour with my cock hard without finding completion. I need more study on that. I'm not ready yet, not today, for the Tantric efforts. In any case, you've been eating very well lately. You ate the entire bowl of porridge with almost no complaint this morning."

"You want to fuck me," Bellatrix concluded, and Voldemort huffed, throwing his arms up.

"I do not think I have the patience for anything else."

"How about this…?" Bellatrix walked toward the bed and urged him up with her. She gently pushed his shoulders down until he was lying on his back, and she whispered, "How about you let me ride this broomstick of yours?"

He scoffed and then laughed, properly laughed, reaching to drag his hands up and down her ribcage as she straddled his thighs. He frowned; her ribs were still poking through and she knew it. But he said nothing. They were both aware that Bellatrix had become and remained far too thin. They were both working on that. There was nothing more that could be done, not in this exact moment.

"Bella," Voldemort whispered, and when she lowered her gaze to him, he tightened his hands on her and told her, "I know you're trying your very best. With the eating. Dealing me as a husband. Killing for me. All of it. You're doing your best, and I want you to know… that I am proud of you."

Bellatrix felt a sudden surge of admiration as he linked his hands with hers. She thought for a moment that she could actually feel what he was feeling, his exact emotions. Her mouth fell open, and she kept her eyes locked on his as she rose up and sank very, very slowly onto his enormous cock. As she slid down, it didn't hurt like it had usually done. She was used to screaming in pain trying to take him in, but now it just felt like puzzle pieces going together, It felt like he was completing her, like she'd been incomplete until right now, right this minute.

"I killed them in this house," Voldemort said, but for some reason it didn't seem like he was talking out loud. Bellatrix rocked very slowly up and down, drenched enough that she didn't need anything extra to move on him. His tip caressed her inner walls as she knelt above him. She sank as deeply down onto him as she could, and she felt more than heard his voice say again, _I killed them here. The filthy lot of them. I killed them here._

"We'll be happy here," Bellatrix whispered, pumping her legs up and down and supporting herself on Voldemort's hands. His cheeks went pink, and she nodded. "This will be The Master's Manor. It's yours. It's yours… I'm yours…"

She could barely breathe then, so she bent to kiss him, thinking she might find air within him. She sank down low onto him and felt him come, slow and easy, and she kissed him until their breaths started to mingle. She didn't finish, which didn't matter for some reason. She felt good. She felt better than good. She let him slide out of her, and she knelt above her master and husband.

 _I killed them here, and now it is mine_.

She wasn't sure if he'd said it out loud. It didn't matter, for some reason. She stayed atop him, settling more heavily onto him - as heavily as a wisp of a creature like Bellatrix could do. His arms threaded round her, and their breaths mixed again. He breathed out and she inhaled the essence of him, feeling something warm flush through her veins.

 _I'm hungry_ , she thought, and then she whispered it aloud. "I'm hungry. I want… macarons. Pistachio and almond and strawberry macarons."

"You're hungry?" Voldemort asked, his fingers reaching to snared in Bellatrix's hair. She nodded and burrowed her face into the crook of his neck. Where he touched her, she felt a strong sense of magic flowing from him to her, a sort of injection of his power into her veins like a drug.

"I want mashed potato," Bellatrix whispered against his neck. "I want baklava and brie cheese with honey and apples."

"Bella." He kissed her cheek, and the feel of his lips on her skin made her shiver. She hummed against him and felt him say or think again,

 _I killed them here, in this place that is mine._

"We'll be happy here," Bellatrix murmured. She pulled herself up a little and shoved her curls from her eyes. Coopy, the Lestrange House-Elf, had been signed over to Bellatrix and would be arriving at The Master's Manor in a few days. But for now, this place was devoid of food. Bellatrix stared into Voldemort's eyes, which buzzed burgundy, flared scarlet, and then went back to black again. She felt his magic pulse into her skin from his fingers, and she said, "My Lord, before we do anything else, could we go back to Malfoy Manor?"

"Macarons," he whispered. "Mashed potato and baklava and brie and apples and honey?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I'm hungry, all on my own."

"Really?" He quirked up half his mouth and demanded, "You did _that_ all on your own, did you? I had nothing to do with making you ravenous, hmm?"

"No, nothing at all," she teased, and he observed,

"You didn't come. Shall I make you come before we leave?"

"No," she smiled. "I'd rather go eat. In case it… you know, wears off or something."

His eyes went up and down her stick-thin form, over her bumpy, visible ribs and her sunken chest and cheeks, and he nodded once.

"Right," he said, "clothes on. We'll be back here soon enough."

 **Author's Note: Looks like they may have discovered some Tantric Magic all on their own, eh? And now Bella wants to eat some real food without being dosed with a potion or Imperiused. And their house is ready for them to live in! Now who's ready for one last "elimination" before the trip to the Isle of Man? As always, thank you for reading and please do take a quick moment to comment.**


	8. Chapter 8

Lord Voldemort glanced around, admiring the airy yellow-and-cream styling that Bellatrix had given the upstairs library at The Master's Manor. The light colours she'd chosen gave the space an open, bright feel, and he didn't even need any sconces or other lights to see his work.

He used his mortar and pestle to pulverise the dried rowan seeds he needed for Bellatrix's Famishing Draught. They only had one dose left of the stuff, and it was helping her day by day, so Voldemort had woken before dawn to prepare his ingredients. He tested the consistency of the crushed seeds in his fingers and then tipped his mortar into his copper cauldron. As the potion hissed and sputtered, he set the mortar down and adjusted the sleeves of his white shirt, the sleeves of which he'd rolled to his elbows.

"Nothing like the smell of flobberworm in the morning," said a groggy voice, and Voldemort smirked, putting his hands on his hips as Bellatrix walked into the library. She was still in her skimpy little black nightgown, looking criminally delicious, and he leaned onto the desk before him as he informed her,

"This potion takes hours of work before it's ready to simmer. Thought I'd get an early start."

Bellatrix's face fell a little, and she pushed her curls from her eyes as she said, "I feel badly, having you go through this trouble just because I can't eat."

"I am your husband," Voldemort said, fixing the left sleeve that was still annoying him. "I will do whatever I must to make you well, and I think we've established that I'm a better potioneer than you."

"You're certainly a more attractive one," Bellatrix said, and when he raised his eyes to her, he read pure hunger in her gaze. He raised his eyebrows, a little surprised. He set to work chopping up the shrivelfig leaves with his silver knife, and he heard a little growl of want from Bellatrix. He smiled down at his chopping board and asked blithely,

"Is there something particularly alluring about a wizard with a knife in his hand?"

"It's the sleeves," she mumbled, and Voldemort scoffed. He sprinkled the shrivelfig leaves into the cauldron, stirred sixteen times counter-clockwise, and crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for the potion to settle again. He gave Bellatrix a suggestive look and said,

"Perhaps I shall just go about in rolled-up sleeves all the time, then."

Her cheeks coloured, and he found himself in disbelief. He glanced down at his forearms; were they really as attractive as that? He cleared his throat and said gently,

"There is something about the precision of potion-making that I find especially comforting. So little in the world is precise, you know, and so I find that the ritualistic, procedural nature of brewing a potion sets my mind at ease. So it's no trouble at all, making this for you."

"I'm glad," she nodded, and he added at once in a whisper,

"Master."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, but before she could say anything, Voldemort noted,

"You haven't said it since you walked into this room. _Master_. _My Lord_. You used to tack it into the end of every sentence."

"I'm so sorry, Master," Bellatrix said quickly. "I meant no disrespect; I've been lazy, and I -"

"I find I do not mind the familiarity," he said matter-of-factly, meaning every word he said. "You're the only one from whom the platitudes feel profoundly unnecessary. I am your master, yes, but I am your husband, too. You needn't grovel. Not in private."

She looked a little overwhelmed then, standing there breathing quickly, her perfect breasts heaving a bit in her nightgown. Voldemort felt his cheeks flush, and something else, too. He quickly set about drizzling Syrup of Hellbore into his potion, and as he stirred it again, he informed Bellatrix,

"I have an assassination I need you to carry out before we leave for the Isle of Man."

"Who is it?" She sounded almost gleeful, so Voldemort's lips curled up. He set his stirring stick down and said to her,

"Arabella Figg. She lives in Surrey. She's a Squib. Figg is her Muggle husband's surname; she was born a Parkinson but disowned when she was found out as a Squib. She's an ally of Dumbledore's; she hides as a Muggle and spies on my allies for him. Normally I wouldn't waste energy on a Squib, but…"

"Hit them where it hurts," Bellatrix nodded. "Poor Mrs Figg, murdered by the Dark Lord and his minions. Shall I cast the Dark Mark above her home?"

"Yes. To be certain," Voldemort nodded. "This may seem like goading, and perhaps it is. I don't want Albus Dumbledore to underestimate me. His days are numbered. I'll pick off his pathetic little friends like so many flies."

Bellatrix smiled and looked almost orgasmic for a moment. Her eyes flashed scarlet, and she asked,

"When do I take her out?"

"Next Saturday. She's always home Saturday nights," Voldemort said. "I've prepared a dossier for you with information about her home and husband. You can go ahead and take him out, too. She breeds half-Kneazle cats. If you decide to spare them, leave them some food, eh?"

Bellatrix laughed a little. "I'll save the kitties. Is it meant to emit purple smoke?"

"Yes." Voldemort scowled at her as he dropped in a whole frozen Ashwinder egg. The smoke turned cerulean blue, and Voldemort said, "It's meant to do that, too. I do know what I'm doing. Promise."

"I know you do." Bellatrix stepped closer to the table, and Voldemort shook his head at her.

"Don't tempt me. I mean it. I can't leave this unattended; I can't take you into the bedroom and… you know. I need to watch this for twenty minutes to make sure it boils without boiling over."

"Perhaps I could attend to you whilst you're working… Master," Bellatrix said softly, "to thank you for brewing this up for me."

She sank down to her knees, and Voldemort found himself unable to fight her off as her little fingers flew along the placket of his trousers. As she pulled out his half-hard cock, he tangled his fingers into her curls and whispered,

"Be quick about it, Bella; I have a potion to get right."

* * *

"My Lord. Thank you for seeing me."

"Rabastan. Sit." Voldemort stared across his desk in his office at Malfoy Manor at Rabastan Lestrange, who had requested a private meeting. Rabastan looked like he was going to be ill, but Voldemort resisted the urge to just look into the young wizard's head.

"I thought, Master, that I should come to you with this information on the off chance that you were not already aware of it," Rabastan said. "I am speaking of the party club that has formed among some of the Death Eaters."

Voldemort raised his eyebrows. "Party club?"

"Yes." Rabastan nodded firmly and said, "Some of the wizards have formed a little group, a little club. They have parties where they invite young, unmarried witches - all Pureblood. They… they pay the girls, you see, and…"

"These are sex parties," Voldemort said, feeling very angry all of a sudden. "Who attends them?"

"Well, I was invited, but as I'm in a relationship with Malika Shacklebolt, Master, I haven't attended in person. I have heard Nott, Mulciber, Avery, Yaxley, and both elder and younger Malfoy men discussing the parties. And… and… Cygnus Black, Master."

His own father-in-law. Bellatrix's father. Voldemort shut his eyes for a moment.

"I believe the whole venture was started by Cato Burke, My Lord," Rabastan muttered, and Voldemort did not feel at all surprised to hear that. He opened his eyes and snapped at Rabastan,

"To the best of your knowledge, have any of these young witches been forced to attend against their will?"

"I don't think so," Rabastan said, shaking his head. "Malika was invited, but declined. Edwina Fawley is rumoured to be a favourite of Cygnus and Cato alike… they take turns, of course."

"Yes. That's quite enough. Thank you." Voldemort folded his hands on his desk. He wasn't certain what to do, how to proceed. If he called out participants individually, he'd lose half of his most loyal force. If he punished the wizards, he'd face pushback. He gulped and said with feigned confidence,

"I shall simply look into their minds at the next meeting - routine check-ins - and scold the group as a whole. The parties will not be allowed to continue. This sort of behaviour is unbecoming of a movement that values dignity and purity."

"I do not mean to tattle, Master," Rabastan said. "It is only that it seemed so extraordinarily uncouth, and… well…"

"You were right to bring it to my attention," Voldemort nodded. Then he had a sudden idea, and he said sharply to Rabastan, "You may go."

Rabastan Lestrange rose and bowed politely before leaving the office without another word. The instant the door had shut, Voldemort pulled back his left sleeve and picked up his wand. He touched the tip to his Dark Mark and Summoned the wizard that should have never been made a Death Eater in the first place - Cato Burke.

 **Author's Note: Uh-oh. Cato's in for it. Voldemort's wanted an excuse to get rid of him ever since he first saw Cato and Bellatrix make eye contact. And poor Mrs Figg! And sexy Voldemort with rolled up sleeves brewing a potion! Ha! Please do review - feedback is valued like millions of Galleons. :)**


	9. Chapter 9

"Girls?" Bellatrix threw her eyebrows up, and Voldemort tipped his head.

"Well. Witches… young adult witches, of age, but… still." He walked through their new silver-and-black kitchen and poured himself a glass of rich red wine. He shook his head and admitted to Bellatrix, "I am not entirely certain what the best way to proceed is. I looked into Cato's mind and saw it all. I put him under a Cruciatus Curse for organising it. I told him that if he ever crossed me again, I'd rip him limb from limb with spells he couldn't imagine. I'm going to announce at the next meeting that the parties are entirely banned. But it feels…"

"Insufficient?" Bellatrix accepted the glass of wine he poured for her and sipped. It was fruity and full, delicious, and she realised she hadn't enjoyed the actual taste of anything in a very long while. She sipped again, relishing the flavour, and she asked, "What exactly was going on at these parties, if I may ask? Who was there?"

Voldemort scoffed, leaning back against the counter. "I'll spare you the details."

"I wish you wouldn't," Bellatrix protested. "If it was enough to earn Cato Burke a Cruciatus Curse, I wish you would tell me. Of course, it's your prerogative not to, My Lord."

She added that last bit because she'd become far too assertive with him lately. She knew that she'd been inappropriately familiar. He'd insisted that he didn't mind, but Bellatrix knew it was breaching a dynamic that was crucial to their relationship.

Voldemort sipped from his wine and then set it down, folding his arms over his chest. He'd stripped off his black outer robe and stood now in a black linen shirt. He'd rolled the sleeves up because Bellatrix liked it. She could see straight through that much. Finally he told her,

"Your father attended every single party."

Bellatrix gasped softly and almost dropped her wine. She blinked and gripped the glass until it almost shattered.

"My father?" she repeated. Voldemort gave her an icy glare, and he informed her,

"Your father has fucked Edwina Fawley at least six or seven times, according to Cato Burke's filthy memories."

Bellatrix's eyes burned all of a sudden. "Then he must be punished!" she exclaimed. "For him to betray my mother like that, to be with Rodolphus'... the woman who loved Rodolphus."

Voldemort frowned very deeply then, looking awfully confused.

"What does your dead husband have to do with this?"

"He adored her," Bellatrix pointed out, her voice shaking, and Voldemort immediately reminded her,

"That was because I Imperiused Edwina to flirt with Rodolphus to make you jealous."

"Yes, but…" Bellatrix shut her eyes and said softly, "Rodolphus died in love with her. What a little slut, to go shagging my father. And all the others, I'm sure."

"She certainly gets around." Voldemort picked up his wine and sipped, and Bellatrix studied him for a long moment. She swallowed hard and asked,

"Narcissa?"

"No," Voldemort said simply. "No; your father insisted that no one lay a hand on his beloved little girl. The raging hypocrite."

"Were any of the witches… was it all consensual?" Bellatrix asked carefully, and Voldemort nodded, still staring into the wine.

"Money was exchanged, but so far as I could tell, no Imperius Curses or Confundus Charms were cast; no one was physical forced. The girls wanted the money and attention from the big important Death Eaters. The men wanted pretty young witches instead of their older wives at home. It's as simple as that."

Bellatrix set her wine down on the counter, feeling profoundly nauseated all of a sudden.

"You tortured him?" she asked. "Cato Burke?"

"Yes. I may have held it just a little too long; it took him a half hour to stagger out of my office," Voldemort admitted. "But I looked into his head before he left. He's terrified and repentant. Not a danger. If he crosses me again, I will take pleasure in killing him. Or watching you do it."

He looked up from his glass then and smirked a little as he said softly,

"You are so very beautiful when you're destroying people. Did you know?"

"Please punish my father," Bellatrix said sharply. Voldemort set his own wine glass down and approached Bellatrix, shrugging a little.

"I can't lose him, not even a smidge. He handles all my finances. He's… my father-in-law."

"He's your slave," Bellatrix hissed, and a strange look came over Voldemort's face. He seemed to be reading Bellatrix's features, and finally he nodded.

"I'll cast a Kraftlos Curse on him."

"What's that? I've never heard of that?" Bellatrix felt nervous all of a sudden, thinking of her father and wondering what awful, delightful punishment Voldemort had in mind.

"It renders a man permanently impotent, unless the Curse is lifted," Voldemort said simply. "I'll cast it without informing him. He won't be able to take another witch, but he won't know why. There's no potion or easy counter-curse; it has to be undone by the caster."

Bellatrix smiled just a little, her heart pounding. "Good. Thank you."

"Bella."

She raised her eyes to his, and he reached to tuck her curls behind her ear.

"Those men don't value their wives. They don't want their wives. But you know, don't you, what I think of you?"

"Yes, Master," Bellatrix whispered. She shivered as Voldemort's fingertips trailed down her neck, and he cupped her breast through her black dress and squeezed a little. He slowly guided her to the kitchen table and then bent to kiss her, brushing his lips against hers as he murmured,

"I want you. I love you. There could never be anyone else. I'll punish them."

"Yes, Master," Bellatrix whispered again. She let him take her by the waist and lift her up onto the kitchen table. He started to pull at the hem of Bellatrix's knee-length dress, edging it up. She helped him shuck it, watched him toss it aside, and then gasped as he bent and clasped his mouth to her neck. He started to really kiss her there, and she burrowed her fingers into his greying hair and tipped her head back. She found herself pushing his shirt back; he'd unbuttoned it at some point. He moved his mouth to the other side of her neck, and suddenly Bellatrix's knickers were sopping wet. She wrapped her arms around Voldemort's bare shoulders and flicked her eyes down to see him shoving his trousers and underwear down and away.

"Oh." Bellatrix moaned quietly at the sight of his cock, enormous and almost threatening. She used to be afraid of it, she thought distantly. Now she relished the way he made her feel with that vicious weapon.

"Bellatrix." Her name was like silk, like smoke rolling off his lips against her skin. He was naked now, and he reached behind her to unclasp her bra. He pulled it off and she wriggled as he pulled her knickers down and away. She still had high heeled boots on, but when she made a move to unclasp them, he murmured, "Leave those on."

"Yes, Master." This time she worshipped him with the word, and as he caressed her breast with one hand and knifed the other between her legs, she shut her eyes and whispered it over and over again. "Master… Master… Master. Mmph."

He silenced her with a kiss, his mouth insistent but kind, his lips pushing and his tongue pulling. His fingers danced, flicking at her clit and sliding along the slippery folds that were more than ready for him. His thumb and forefinger pinched her nipple in his other hand, and Bellatrix felt everything going hot and tight inside of her. Warmth started to spread, and she felt her strange connection with him forging itself again. Invisible, powerful - a web of magic binding them together. It pushed her straight over the edge to feel it. She was shaking where she sat, holding fast to her master as he kissed her through it. He groaned as her walls clamped and snapped around his fingers, and when at last he broke their kiss, his eyes were ablaze with need.

Bellatrix stared at him, unable to break their gaze as she parted her knees. Voldemort put his tip inside of her and just breathed for a moment, letting Bellatrix's body get used to the feel of invasion. He pushed in a little and she gasped, her hands clutching the edge of the table and then flying desperately to clamp around his forearms. He gripped her thighs and pushed in, pulled out, pushed in again. They just stared at one another, both of them silently on fire.

That's what this felt like. Burning alive and enjoying it. Coming apart and being built up all at the same time. Bellatrix came again, very unexpectedly, and at the fele of that, Voldemort let out a shaking breath and quickened his thrusts. Bellatrix was still coming down from the feel of heat, the ring in her ears and the spots in her vision still fading as he pushed harder and harder.

"There could only ever be you, you understand?" He grabbed at her face all of a sudden, burying himself so deeply that Bellatrix yelped. His face twisted a little, and he said, "Anyone from my youth… I didn't even know you existed then. But now, Bella. Now that I know you, that I have you, there could never, ever be anyone else. Not anyone, not ever."

Bellatrix shut her eyes, completely overwhelmed, and she thought or whispered, _Yes, Master._

She was pulled against him as he pumped his seed into her body, as he panted and groaned a little. She pressed her ear to his bare chest and listened to his heart thrum, so quickly that she worried he'd keel over.

"I'm not so old as that," she heard him mumble, and Bellatrix smiled a little, dragging her fingers along his shoulder and arm.

"Oh, you're perfectly virile, My Lord," she assured him. _Unlike my good-for-nothing father will be_ , she thought then, and Voldemort pulled back and let himself slip out of her. He shook his head and said seriously,

"He won't sin against your mother or you or me anymore. He'll serve me, because that's what servants do."

"How are you doing that?" Bellatrix demanded, and Voldemort frowned.

"Doing what?"

"I'm rather good at Occlumency," she pointed out. "How are you hearing my thoughts as clearly as that?"

"Thoughts?" Voldemort looked a little confused. He shook his head. "No; you said it out loud. _Unlike my good-for-nothing father will be._ "

Bellatrix wrapped her arms around herself, feeling abruptly nervous. "I'm very certain I only thought it."

Voldemort shrugged and dragged his fingers through his hair. "It doesn't matter, does it?"

"No, Master. I suppose not," Bellatrix said quietly, but she couldn't help thinking that Voldemort was being significantly more glib about whatever connection was steadily forging itself between them than she could be.

* * *

" _Alohomora_."

The door of the Muggle semi-detached house clicked open easily. Bellatrix rolled her eyes. Of course a damned Squib would have no real protection over her house. Bellatrix opened the door and padded quietly into the house.

" _Lumos,_ " she whispered, and her wand cast a ghostly bluish light over the cramped foyer. It smelled like soup, like coffee.

"Mrowwww… Meow!"

"Shut up!" Bellatrix hissed at the half-Kneazle that had curled itself around her leg. She aimed her wand at the animal and whispered, " _Silencio._ "

The creature opened its mouth to meow again, but no sound came out. Bellatrix tip-toed up the narrow, steep stairs that led to the upper level of the smelly, stuffy house. A floorboard creaked beneath her foot, and she paused.

"Arabella?" said a groggy man's voice from one of the bedrooms. "Hmmph…"

The sound of rather obnoxious snoring resumed, and Bellatrix nonverbally snuffed out the light from her wand. She used the pale moonlight filtering in through the windows to see, and she entered the bedroom from which the sound of snoring was coming.

There were two lumps in the bed. Bellatrix knew she needed to act first and then confirm her work. She aimed her wand at one of the lumps and said firmly,

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

There was a blinding flash of green light, and the other lump sat up and became a woman with curlers in her hair. The woman looked very confused, then her eyes went wide as they settled on Bellatrix. The Squib opened her mouth and started to ask,

"Who are -"

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

Another flash of green light filled the space, and Arabella Figg collapsed back onto the bed, entirely devoid of life. Bellatrix examined both corpses for any sign of life. Both husband and wife looked like they'd fallen back asleep in their bed. Arabella's curlers were admittedly a bit mussed. Bellatrix sniffed as one of the half-Kneazles walked into the room, and she mumbled,

"I think Dumbledore will get here in plenty of time to feed the lot of you. _Morsmordre!_ "

She aimed her wand at the ceiling, and green sparks shot out from the tip. They soared up through the ceiling and roof, and as Bellatrix Disapparated, she knew that she'd tattooed the sky with the beautiful Dark Mark of her master.

 **Author's Note: Oh, dear. Poor Mrs Figg. But yay for Cygnus getting his due, huh? Thank you for reading, and because this is a very small ship at the moment, please know that each review is deeply treasured.**


	10. Chapter 10

"Happy birthday, Mummy."

"Oh, Bella. Thank you for coming." Druella Black kissed each of her daughter's cheeks and said quietly, "With Cissy away at school and that other girl gone forever, you're all I have these days, darling."

She turned her attention away from her daughter then and descended into a respectful curtsy.

"My Lord. Thank you for gracing our home with your presence."

"What sort of son-in-law would neglect the wife of his mother on her birthday?" Voldemort asked, and Druella giggled a little too loudly. Behind her, Cygnus Black bowed his head and mumbled some platitudes. He looked drawn and tired, and Voldemort suspected he knew why. The man had been impotent for days now, ever since Voldemort had done as he'd promised Bellatrix and had rendered his manhood lifeless.

"Cygnus, do recall that we're on holiday for a few days. Friday through Monday. I trust the finances will be in order and nothing will burn to the ground in my absence."

"Everything will be just fine, My Lord," Cygnus Black assured him wearily. "Abraxas Malfoy and I will keep a daily log and have a summary dossier for you upon your return."

"No more talk of business," Voldemort said rather sharply. "It is Madam Black's birthday. To dinner, eh?"

A few moments later, they were all seated round the dining room table, and the House-Elf snapped his fingers in the corner so that plates of food appeared. Seared scallops, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, and buttered rolls materialised on the table. Before anyone dug in to eat, Voldemort raised his glass of white elf-made wine and said as warmly as he could manage,

"To Madam Black - a fine wife, a fine mother, and a deeply valued member of the wizarding community that blossoms round us. Happy birthday."

"Happy birthday, Mummy," Bellatrix said, and Druella smiled and nodded as she sipped. Voldemort watched with a sense of great satisfaction as Bellatrix ate three whole spears of asparagus, half a scallop, and two bites of buttered bread. For anyone else, that would have qualified as _barely eating_ , but for Bellatrix, it was an enormous victory. She was still too thin, and perhaps she always would be, but she wasn't starving to death anymore, Voldemort thought.

"So, Mummy… Daddy," Bellatrix said lightly, setting down her fork and knife, "Have you been to any good parties lately?"

Voldemort's eyes widened on instinct as Cygnus choked on his bite. He coughed and swallowed, and Druella asked curiously,

"Parties, dear?"

"Yes!" Bellatrix grinned like a madwoman, staring directly at her father. "The two of you. Together. As a loving couple. Attended any parties? We love dancing at parties, the Dark Lord and I."

Cygnus's face went grey, and Voldemort calmly folded his hands and tipped his head. Poor Druella seemed awfully confused as she looked round the table.

"Erm… well, darling, we've been to dine with the Malfoys. Just two weeks ago or so. We do that often, and then the boys go off with their friends and Cerda and I stay to chat over tea and trifles."

Druella laughed nervously, and Cygnus lowered his eyes. He knew now; he knew that his daughter was aware of his abominable transgressions. Cygnus dared to raise an apologetic look to Voldemort, who kept an icy glare locked on him.

"Mummy, we did bring a little gift for you. Well, it's for the both of you, really," Bellatrix said. She opened her drawstring bag and pulled out a printed pamphlet. "You two went to Andermatt in Switzerland when I was young. I remember. We thought perhaps you might want some time away together. To bond, you know, as a loving married couple. So we've prepaid a week long stay at the wizarding resort there. In the Alps."

"Oh, my goodness! How extraordinarily generous and thoughtful!" Druella exclaimed, and Bellatrix just stared at her father. Cygnus looked back at his daughter, his face falling with humiliation. Voldemort peeked into Cygnus' mind and sensed that the man was wondering just much his daughter knew.

"Everything," Voldemort said, quietly enough that Druella ignored him and continued reading the pamphlet. Cygnus' eyes went round as saucers, and Voldemort nodded once. Cygnus' lips parted with shock, with alarm, with horror. Bellatrix cleared her throat and sipped from her wine as she informed her mother,

"The trip is scheduled for early December. Christmas decorations will be up, but you'll be back in time for the Malfoy Christmas Party. Wouldn't want you to miss that. I know we all do love parties. Don't we, Master?"

"Oh, yes," he said, reaching rather conspicuously to cover Bellatrix's hand with his own. He gave her a very affectionate look then and informed her in a meaningful tone, "Ever since I danced with you last year at the Malfoy Christmas Party, Bella, I daresay there could never, ever be another witch in my arms. I don't suppose I will ever dance with anyone else. No offence to you, Madam Black."

He flicked a little smile at Druella, who chuckled, and then he stared at Cygnus.

"It is a magnificent thing, Cygnus, to fall in love and have a happy marriage. How lucky you are to have had decades on me in discovering it. Never fear; your daughter's heart is safe with me."

Cygnus' face kept alternating between white and scarlet, and he looked like he would faint. He just nodded, cleared his throat, and said in a hoarse voice,

"There is no greater joy as a parent than knowing that your child is… well. We are grateful, My Lord. For everything. For _everything_."

Druella seemed just as removed from the real meaning of the conversation as ever, but Bellatrix dragged her thumb over Voldemort's on the table, and she said very warmly to her father,

"Now. Mummy must blow out her birthday candles. Where's the cake?"

* * *

"Do you feel better now?" Voldemort asked as they both stripped down and cast Cleansing spells upon themselves. They were too tired for showers tonight, Voldemort thought. And as for Bellatrix, she was properly drunk. She'd had entirely too much wine, and after dinner, she'd gleefully downed four fingers of firewhisky as she relentlessly taunted her father.

"As it happens, Master, I _do_ feel better." Bellatrix shoved down her knickers down, but as she tried to step out of them, she tripped and fell. Voldemort rushed over in horror, but she giggled madly on the floor as she lamented, "Oh, I got much more drunk than I'd… than I thought I… I'm drunk. Oh."

"Yes. You… had quite a lot to drink," Voldemort agreed, hauling her to her feet and Scouring her knickers before deciding she didn't need new ones for sleep. He pulled out a wispy black tunic, one of his undershirts. She liked to sleep in his clothes, he knew. Bellatrix smiled happily as she pulled it on with sloppy motions. Voldemort smirked and pulled on flannel pyjama trousers as he mumbled, "The staging wasn't exactly ideal for me to tell you off for drinking too much, and, anyway, I know you were celebrating."

"Yes. He was utterly humiliated. As well he should be. Scum." Bellatrix looked like she'd spit on the ground. She tried to braid her hair, gave up, and huffed. "Off fucking Edwina Fawley and goodness knows what other girls. My poor mother."

"Well, they're going to Switzerland," Voldemort pointed out, wrapping Bellatrix up in his arms to keep her from falling. He breathed in and said with some amusement, "You absolutely reek of whiskey, you devious little being."

"Dance with me?" Bellatrix raised her eyes, bleary and glassy, and she reached up to hold Voldemort's cheek. "You need a shave."

"You're too drunk to dance," he said. "You should just go to bed. I'll dance with you on the Isle of Man?"

"You will?" Bellatrix's face went peaceful, and Voldemort nodded, feeling a sudden magnetic pull into her eyes. He gulped.

"We'll… we'll dance on the shore," he told her, "up to our bare ankles in frigid water, to the beat of the waves. We'll dance with a phonograph playing, on the creaky wood floor in the little sitting-room. We'll dance in the kitchen with no music at all."

"Oh." She seemed breathless then, and something compelled Voldemort to put his right hand between her shoulder blades. He blinked a few times but couldn't yank his gaze from hers. His left hand snared into her right one, and he kept her tucked in a tight stance. She kept her left hand on his face, but they began to sway, their posture a mess for dancing, the silence heavy in the room.

"I meant what I said," he informed her. "I was mocking him, yes, but I meant it. What I said about you."

Her eyes watered heavily, and she nodded. "This happened that night. Our eyes taking one another prisoner. I still don't understand it."

"I think," Voldemort said carefully, "that it means… you were born to be mine. And, probably, I was intended for you."

Bellatrix smiled and asked in a shy sort of voice, "Soul mates? Always seemed like a silly little lie people told themselves."

"Yes, well… I thought for a very long time that _love_ was a silly little lie people told themselves," Voldemort reminded her, "but here we are."

"Here we are," she nodded, staring up at him as they moved in an ever-changing rhythm to music neither of them could hear. It didn't matter; the dance was happening on the inside, anyway. Voldemort felt his fingers cinch on Bellatrix's back, and he realised something rather weighty.

"I have never actually been happy," he said seriously. "I have always chased satisfaction, and I have only occasionally and briefly attained it. But real, lasting happiness is not anything I have ever experienced. Not until you. And soon enough everything in wizarding Britain will be mine, you most of all. I'm sure it will be very satisfying to _really_ own it all. But none of it will make me a happy man. Not like you do. You make me happy, Bella. You…"

He was rambling, he thought. Bellatrix just blinked up at him, her face steady, reminding him of why he adored her so very much. He thought of the look in her eyes when she'd been taunting her father, the look in her eyes when she'd come home from killing Arabella Figg, the look in her eyes when she'd been on her knees in the shower for him the night before. Now he studied her drunken eyes, watched them flash red - the aftermath of her Horcrux creation - and he found himself utterly unable to breathe. He stopped their awkward little dance and let himself get completely lost in her.

Then he felt it - that golden web that tightened and snared around them and yanked them together from the inside out. Voldemort's breath shook as he thought, _You make me happy_.

"Promise?" Bellatrix whispered, and he just nodded, unable to feel fear or unease about the fact that they could feel thoughts every now and then. He just squeezed at the hand of the witch who had awakened him from a sleep in which he hadn't known he'd been lost.

"I promise," he nodded. "You, Bellatrix, make me a happy man."

A single tear boiled over Bellatrix's right eye and trickled down her cheek, and Voldemort let go of her hand to wipe the tear away.

"Making you happy," she whispered, "is the only reason I am alive."

They stared again, for either thirty seconds or thirty minutes, and finally Voldemort whispered,

"Let me hold you until you fall asleep."

She nodded, and he led her to their bed, the one she'd crafted in the home where he'd killed his father.

 **Author's Note: Awwww, the twisted love between these two. And poor, Cygnus, utterly humiliated. Well, maybe you shouldn't have gone to those parties, Cygnus. Haha. Sorry for two updates in one day - my imagination ran wild today! For those reading, thank you SO MUCH. For those who have reviewed, you have my endless love and gratitude.**


	11. Chapter 11

Albus Dumbledore aimed his wand at Voldemort, who shot a nonverbal Stupefy right back. Bellatrix hissed out a Cruciatus Curse that snared around Alastor Moody. The wizard's shriek of tormented pain ripped through the night air. Cato Burke and Rabastan Lestrange were duelling someone Bellatrix couldn't see. Older Death Eaters - Yaxley and Nott and Mulciber - had locked wands with more of Dumbledore's minions.

'Tom, see reason!' Dumbledore bellowed, and Bellatrix flicked her eyes to where her master aimed a Killing Curse at Albus Dumbledore. The elder wizard disappeared just in time, and one by one his allies Disapparated. Voldemort's Killing Curse struck the ground on the lawn outside Malfoy Manor, where the battle had exploded. The lawn burst into flames, sending blades of grass fluttering to the ground. Voldemort snarled in rage as he looked around. Bellatrix held her curse, wondering if she should break it before Moody lost his mind beyond usefulness in interrogation.

All of a sudden, a ginger-haired wizard came dashing brazenly up to where Alastor Moody was convulsing beneath Bellatrix's Cruciatus. The red-haired wizard snatched Moody's sleeve and Disapparated, leaving a Splinched eyeball behind on the grass. Bellatrix scowled, angry that she'd lost her foe by Side-Along. She stared down at the eyeball, crouching down to look at it, remembering the way she'd Splinched half her left hand the day of the Quidditch attack.

"Bella. You take the grounds inside the gate. Search for anyone hiding."

She looked up to see that Voldemort's face was steely and stern. They'd been packing their luggage for their trip to the Isle of Man when his Dark Mark had seared hot and black. They'd come to Malfoy Manor, to where Abraxas Malfoy had been ambushed by a cadre of the so-called 'Order of the Phoenix.'

"They were angry about Arabella Figg," Bellatrix said quietly, rising from where she crouched and glancing once more at the eyeball Moody had left behind. "You did say you were goading him."

"I told you to go check inside the gate," Voldemort said quietly, and Bellatrix bowed her head.

"Yes, Master." She scurried off then, dashing around the gardens in the darkness, whispering over and over, " _Homenum Revelio._ "

She could hear Abraxas Malfoy talking in a low, hurried voice with Lord Voldemort, discussing new wards to turn this place into a fortress, talking about the need for everyone to be secure as Dumbledore's rage unfolded. Bellatrix realised there would be no trip to the Isle of Man, and she sighed a little. She couldn't help being disappointed, though she knew their responsibility was here. Her master had kicked a hornet's nest by having Bellatrix take out the pathetic Squib woman.

" _Homenum Revelio._ " Bellatrix aimed her wand into a tangle of rose bushes. Nothing. She took a few steps forward into the gardens and then felt a hand close around her shoulder. She whirled around with her wand extended, a Curse on her lips, but Voldemort murmured,

" _Expelliarmus_." He snatched her wand as she lost her grip on it, and she huffed out a breath.

"There's no one here, My Lord," she informed him. "They're gone."

"Get on the ground." His voice was a low snarl, his eyes shining very strangely in the moonlight. Bellatrix frowned and glanced behind her to the manicured garden grass.

"On the… the ground?"

"Yes. Lie on your back on the grass. Now." Voldemort's icy voice left absolutely no room for discussion, and suddenly Bellatrix understood what he meant to do to her, right here in the gardens whilst his Death Eaters clustered just outside the gate.

"Please," she whispered, shaking her head, "not here."

"Embarrassed, are we? A little shy? I said to lie down, Bellatrix. Do it." He pushed at her shoulder a little, which shocked her. She blinked a few times as he tucked her wand into his outer robe. Bellatrix sank to her knees, still shaking her head, and then she clumsily arranged herself on her back. The grass was cold and wet beneath her, and it poked at her wrists and neck in a way that made her feel profoundly uncomfortable. She shut her eyes and whispered,

"Please don't do this."

"I will take what is mine," Voldemort hissed, his voice smooth and sharp all at once, a dangerous icicle in the night air. He was crouching beside her, she could tell, and she heard the rustle of fabric as he fumbled with his robes and trousers. His voice cut straight through her as he reminded her, "All of this is mine. You are mine."

"Albus Dumbledore may refuse to acknowledge that, but your followers know it very well." Bellatrix opened her eyes and glared at him, knowing she was risking punishment but feeling as though she had very little choice. She reached to wrap her thin fingers around his wrist, and she pulled his hand from the placket of his trousers. His eyes flashed a little, and she kept her voice very quiet as she added frantically, "Please. This isn't the power move you think it is, rutting me on the lawn like an out-of-control animal. They won't respect you for it; they'll think less of you. Don't degrade yourself like this. Please. I beg you not to -"

"Bellatrix? Bella, dear, are you hurt?"

Bellatrix shut her eyes and felt a tear worm its way out as she answered her father in a cracked voice,

"No, Daddy. I'm fine."

"Go away, Cygnus," growled Voldemort, and there was a heavy pause as another tear boiled from Bellatrix's eye.

"Yes, Master," her father said at last, his voice trembling. Bellatrix lay still and listened to the night sounds - the little critters who only spoke in the darkness, the rustling of tree and bush leaves around her - and then she heard Voldemort make his way off the ground.

"Stand up," he barked harshly, and Bellatrix tried not to cry any more than she'd already done as she heaved herself off the lawn. Voldemort grabbed her wrist and dragged her toward the gate, and she hung her head as she beseeched him,

"Please, just let them see me dragging behind you. Scold them for being sloppy. And then leave. Please; they know what's yours. They know who you are."

"Malfoy!" Voldemort yelled as he sped up his long strides. Bellatrix trotted to keep up with him, whimpering softly as his hand tightened painfully around her wrist. He nearly tossed her out before him as he came into the circle of tired-looking Death Eaters. Cygnus Black looked very concerned for his daughter, but of course he said nothing. Bellatrix lowered her eyes and stood a half-step behind Voldemort as he reprimanded Abraxas Malfoy. "Thanks to your lacklustre security, our headquarters were very nearly breached. Albus Dumbledore and his little scamps will be made to feel our fury, but for the next stretch here, I command you all to find secure locations so that no one is captured. You all have your vials of poison in case someone does take you. Fail to kill yourself upon capture and I'll make you wish you'd taken a thousand of those vials. Understood?"

"Yes, Master," mumbled a dozen voices from around them. Bellatrix let her curls fall in front of her face and kept her eyes on her boots as Voldemort snapped,

"Cygnus. Find the little souvenir Alastor Moody left us - his eyeball, courtesy of Splinching during a rescue from your little girl's vicious torture. Jar up the eye for me; I should like to keep it in a shelf on my office."

"Yes, Master," Cygnus Black said at once. Voldemort let silence fall, let it settle until it grew very, very uncomfortable. He controlled the speaking here. No one so much as flinched whilst the Dark Lord stood in serene quiet. Finally he said in a jagged, aggressive voice,

"If I am disturbed over the next few days, know that I will be punishing whomever is responsible for that sort of emergency. I am not to be bothered. I have… things to do."

With that, he yanked Bellatrix closer to him, his hand cinching so tightly around her wrist that she cried out. She tucked her face against his arm, submissive, like a little child who'd gotten into mischief.

"Isle of Man," he whispered suddenly, and Bellatrix understood. He didn't want her to Splinch again; she needed to be deliberate in going with him by Side-Along. A half moment later, they Disapparated, and Bellatrix thought of the little white cottage.

When she came to, she crashed down onto the rocky ground and stumbled. She tried to stand, but she couldn't see; it was cloudy and dark here. She tripped on a rock and struggled to stand, hearing the crash of waves very nearby. Suddenly she was swept up in Voldemort's arms, cradled in a rigid embrace. His breath huffed in shallow, anxious pants above her, but it was so dark she couldn't see his face. How he made his way into the cottage, she had no idea, but the door slammed open and then shut again, and Voldemort mumbled,

" _Illuminario_."

All the sconces and ceiling-mounted candle fixtures in the cottage sprang to life at once, bathing the little house in a flickering warm glow. Voldemort veered to the right and plopped Bellatrix unceremoniously onto the quilted bed, the place where she'd healed after Splinching her hand, after making her Horcrux.

There would be no healing tonight, she realised.

He ripped her leggings off so forcefully that she gasped; he tossed her shoes over the side of the bed and yanked her knickers down so that she had to wriggle madly to keep up. He didn't seem to care about her blouse. He just needed access to the lower bits.

" _Lubrico Duo_." He aimed her own wand between her legs, and as Bellatrix felt a warm, slick feeling wash over her, he tossed the wand down onto the quilt. He yanked off his outer robe, pulled open the placket of his trousers, and shoved them down just enough. His cock seemed especially intimidating tonight, particularly when he commanded Bellatrix,

"Get on your stomach. Now."

She rolled over as quickly as she could, staring at her wand on the quilt as her hips were grabbed and angled. He pushed in harder and farther than she could ever remember him doing, thrusting in at once as though it was his intention to split her in two. She shrieked, her fingers cinching around the lace pillowcase as he buried himself far more angrily than he'd ever done. He was too big, she thought suddenly. Her body couldn't bear him. Not like this.

" _Interminagaudens!_ " she heard him incant, and she gasped as a sudden, very unexpected orgasm hit her like the shock of a cold winter wind. It was powerful, at least as powerful as any climax she'd ever had before, but there was still pain as an undercurrent to the unforeseen pleasure. It was odd to come so suddenly, with absolutely no foreplay and having not been even vaguely aroused. It was odd to feel heat in her ears, to hear distant ringing as her heartbeat pumped satisfaction through her veins, under these circumstances. It was very strange for her walls to be clamping around Voldemort's mercilessly pumping cock when just a moment earlier she'd been very afraid of it. What was even more odd was the way it didn't end, the way it just seemed to go on and on.

She kept coming even as Voldemort grunted and slid his hands around her hips and back, as he squeezed her little waist and toyed with her breasts through her blouse. She kept coming even when he thrust so hard that she screamed in a blend of pleasure and agony. And she kept coming when he did, when he stilled his jerking hips and whispered her name, when the hot jets of his seed filled her and leaked out, when it dribbled down between them onto the quilt.

" _Finite… Incantatem…_ " Voldemort whispered breathlessly, and then his own wand landed on the quilt beside Bellatrix. She studied its yew shaft and handle, the angry curls and points of it, and she blinked slowly. She was exhausted, far more exhausted than she'd ever been. She felt Voldemort pull himself from her, and she shut her eyes against the obscene trickle that followed him. She felt his finger play with the come that drizzled down her thigh, heard his breath shaking as he murmured,

"Mine… mine."

"Of course, Master," Bellatrix nodded, drowsy and sore and overwhelmed by it all. An odd thought occurred to her then. "We don't have any of our luggage."

"We have wands," he reminded her, "and dry goods in the kitchen. We don't need anything more than that."

"Well," she said, eyeing his wand again, "I need you. I'll always need you."

A few moments later, she was curled up against him beneath the quilt, both of them stripped naked and Scoured clean. Voldemort twirled one of Bellatrix's kinky curls around his finger, and he said quietly,

"You were right. My instinct was to fuck you in front of all of them as a show of force, but it wouldn't have done that. It would have made me seem base and crude and undignified. You were right. So… thank you."

"I wasn't trying to be disobedient, Master," Bellatrix whispered, and he shook his head.

"You were being my very best Death Eater, looking out for the advancement of your master. You were being a very good wife, trying to protect your husband's image. You were being the Dark Lady, the witch you were born to be, and I am grateful for it."

Bellatrix shut her eyes and pressed her lips to the warm, smooth skin on the side of his chest. She breathed him in for a moment and then thought, _Goodnight, My Lord._

"Goodnight, Bella," he whispered back, and then Bellatrix completely lost herself to fatigue, the waves on the beach outside and her husband's heartbeat combining into a very fine lullaby.

 **Author's Note: I invented the Inteminagaudens spell for a Snamione fic I wrote a long time ago, and I thought I'd revive it here for use on a witch. ;) I'd love to hear your thoughts on this fic as the dynamic between Voldemort and Bellatrix evolves. Thank you so much for reading.**


	12. Chapter 12

She looked like a ghost, like a nymph of some kind.

She stood on the rocky shore, Voldemort's shirt flutterly loosely around her, waves washing over her shins. Her arms hung limply at her sides, and her wild black mane rode the wind. She faced the horizon, just staring. She must be freezing, Voldemort thought from where he stood at the window. And she had his shirt.

He Transfigured his outer robe into something of heavier weight and slightly shorter length, and he pulled on his underwear and his makeshift long tunic. He trod barefoot out of the cottage, ignoring the prod of the stones against the soles of his feet. After awhile, Bellatrix turned her head, her face pale and serene as she flashed him a little smile.

"Lovely morning, isn't it?" she asked sarcastically. Voldemort smirked, hissing as the frigid water hit his feet. The hem of his robe got soaked; he hadn't made it short enough. He could dry it, he thought, and he walked right up to Bellatrix.

"Why the blazes are you standing in this ice-cold ocean?" he demanded, and she smiled as she reminded him,

"You said we'd dance here. To the beat of the waves."

"So I did." Voldemort thought of how rough he'd been with her the night before, after the battle and after crossing the sea to this little island. She needed him to love her now, to show her the tenderness he could never express in front of the others. So he cleared his throat a little, held out his right hand, and bowed his head. "My Lady, would you grant me the honour of a dance?"

"I don't know… you seem like a bit of a cur," she said gravely. Voldemort raised his eyes to her, grinning in shock, and Bellatrix playfully added, "I don't know if I can trust you, and I was taught never to dance with men I can't trust."

He lowered his hand and stepped closer to her. "You can trust me."

"Can I?" she nibbled at her lip a little, her dark eyes gleaming in the grey light of the foggy morning. "How can I be certain?"

"Because…" He bent to brush his lips against hers, and he told her, "because I am in love with you, and a piece of your soul lies beneath floorboards in my mother's dilapidated family shack, safely ensconced by spells, right beside a piece of my own soul. So you can trust me."

"Oh." Her breath was warm on his trembling lips, and she took his left hand in her right one. "Yes. Let's dance, then."

He put his right hand to her back and adjusted them into a formal stance. Suddenly he could hear a lazy two-step in his mind, a clarinet and a muted trumpet, quiet and calm jazz. He started to move to the imagined song, and Bellatrix moved exactly with him. She curled her lips up and told him,

"I can almost hear it. Music."

"Me, too." He frowned a little and started to hum along with the melody. Bellatrix looked shocked, and as they danced, she hummed with him. He'd never heard this song before, not outside the confines of his imagination, but she was right there with him.

"Are we hallucinating together?" she asked bluntly, and Voldemort let his humming trail off as he realised he did not have a very good answer for that question. He shook his head insistently, shivering as the waves washed over the hem of his Transfigured robe. His feet were numb from the cold now, but still he swayed with Bellatrix, and she started to hum again. Her little voice was right in tune with the clarinet in his mind, the beat exactly the same, and as he swayed with her, he thought,

 _What is this?_

"I feel the same thing now I felt at the Christmas party," Bellatrix informed him. "A pull, a magnetic force. I've never felt it with anyone but you, but with you I feel it all the time."

"So do I. I'm fucking freezing." Voldemort stopped dancing then, and as he lowered his hands, the music in his mind faded away. He stared down at Bellatrix, feeling the waves kiss the both of them, and she whispered,

"Silence in there now. In my head."

"Yes." He nodded, and he swallowed hard as he suggested, "How about some good hot porridge and a very long bath? Your lips are blue."

* * *

She wasn't sleeping, but she was as peaceful as if she were lost in slumber. Voldemort leaned against the threshold of the little bathroom, feeling like he'd spent the entire day as a voyeur. He'd had to Imperius Bellatrix into eating porridge; they had no Famishing Draught with them. So he'd watched her eat, after watching her stand out on the beach. Now he watched her lounge in the antique porcelain tub, the water opaque from rose-scented soap. Her curls fell heavy and wet until they reached the water, where they floated ethereally. Voldemort wondered if she minded the way he admired her, the way he stared at her.

"I don't mind," she said quietly, and his breath caught a little. He opened his mouth to speak, found himself rather speechless, and watched as she opened her eyes and told him, "You watched me for months before I began to want you. I knew you were watching then, too. You weren't very subtle."

"How clearly can you hear my thoughts?" he demanded, and Bellatrix sat up a bit in the bath. She dragged her fingertips around the surface of the water and mused,

"It isn't… hearing thoughts. It's more like… every once in a while, a very clear line of dialogue comes into my head as though you were speaking aloud. And sometimes, it's more that I'm aware of your intent, like I can feel the essence of your thoughts without seeing or hearing them explicitly."

"Oh." Voldemort licked his bottom lip and said, "You're a remarkably talented Occlumens. I wonder if you aren't just preternaturally gifted with Legilimency. Does this happen often, with others?"

She looked up and shook her head, seeming just a little afraid. "No, Master. It's only you."

He scowled and instructed her, "Try hard to look into my head."

Her eyes went round, and she shook her head a little, the water sloshing as she sat up some more. Voldemort aimed his water at the bath, Vanished the water, dried Bellatrix off, and tossed her the tunic from the day before that they'd Scoured and lengthened. She wordlessly climbed out of the bath and pulled on the dress, and she stood before Voldemort. He blocked the doorway and commanded her quite firmly,

"Try it. Look into my mind. You know the spell."

" _Legilimens._ " Her eyes blazed crimson all of a sudden, and Voldemort felt a sudden crash into his consciousness, as though someone had hurled a brick through a window. He let down his Occlumency shields at once, allowing her entry, and she started to thumb through the countless memories and thoughts he possessed. She settled on something awful, but a force Voldemort couldn't fight off kept him from blocking her.

' _That Tom Riddle is nothing but trouble,' murmured one of the old women to another. 'He stole that little girl's doll and dyed its hair black somehow. Made the glass eyes red. Ripped off the limbs and stitched it all back together, giving the poor girl a dismembered doll. No idea how he did it; he must've stolen materials. But why go through such trouble just to torment another orphan? The boy is demented, I tell you. Sick in the head.'_

"Bellatrix," Voldemort warned sharply, and she blinked a few times but kept eye contact as she settled on something else.

 _Bellatrix Black was too young for him to be eyeing her, but he couldn't quite help himself. He wasn't the sort of wizard to stare at underaged witches, but Bellatrix seemed… different. She'd worn a gown designed to show off her breasts. She wanted attention, the little harlot. Well, she was getting it from wizards left and right. Lord Voldemort was entranced by her, by the way she smirked at people, the way she sipped so confidently from the wine she was still a year too young to drink. She seemed haughty, confident, brazen. It was alluring, so much so that Voldemort decided he was going to leave earlier than expected. He couldn't stare at a girl like her, far too young and far too willing. He knew what she thought about him. She worshipped him. That was what her father had said. 'Bellatrix worships you, My Lord.' She would give herself to him completely as soon as she left Hogwarts, Voldemort decided. She would be his._

"Bellatrix! Enough." Voldemort shoved up his Occlumency defences like a concrete wall, shoving Bellatrix so roughly from his mind that she physically staggered backward.

 _I'm sorry_ , came a thought, accompanied by wide-eyed terror. Voldemort shook his head in confusion. This was more than her obvious skill with Legilimency. They'd heard music together out on the beach. They'd both felt the binding hot light during intimate moments. Something odd was tying them together, knotting minds and souls and something deeper.

"Of course you're a Legilimens," Voldemort scoffed. "Why wouldn't you be?"

"Did my eyeliner really look that good at the party?" Bellatrix asked in a nervous voice, and Voldemort crossed his arms over his chest.

"This is serious, Bellatrix."

She nodded. "I know. It's frightening. I don't know what to make of any of it; I'm more than open to an explanation."

"I have none to give," he shrugged. He shut his eyes for a moment and whispered, "You saw my childhood."

He couldn't believe he'd let her see that memory. Even Bellatrix, even _his_ Bellatrix… it was a step too far. He felt her hands press flat against his chest, and she said quietly,

"You were too powerful for anyone else to handle, even then. Even as a little boy, you frightened people. You have been powerful, I think, since the very day of your birth."

"Bella." He bent to touch his lips to her forehead, and he heard the slow jazz music from before. He shook his head minutely and informed her, "I don't feel like dancing just this moment."

"I know that song from somewhere…" Bellatrix looked up at him and seemed to be thinking very hard. Then she smiled just a little, and realisation settled over her eyes. "The first time we ever danced. It was a two-step, played by strings, but -"

"But that was the melody." He nodded and smiled just a little. "Yes. I remember now. I was very pleased with you about killing Manna Holden so cleanly, and I wanted to congratulate you and thank you for your service."

"Is that why you kept your hand on the skin of my back when any other wizard would have apologised and blushed and moved his hand away?" Bellatrix asked pointedly. Voldemort shook his head.

"I wanted to touch you. I wanted you to stare up at me. And when you did, I… felt it. For the first time. I'd been attracted to you, but… it was different, wasn't it? Different than usual attraction."

"Like a planet and a moon," Bellatrix agreed. "It took everything I had to let him take me away from you."

Rodolphus, she meant. Voldemort dragged his tongue over his lower lip and said rather brashly,

"It was not difficult at all for me to take you back. Though, of course, you seemed quite willing in giving yourself."

"I read something once," Bellatrix confessed, "in a book about unintentional magic. It said that sometimes people could be Kindred. Intrinsically matched, meant for one another, complementary. Drawn together in an almost irresistible way."

"I always thought that the concept of Kindred was just… lovebirds thinking they were particularly special, that they were more mutually obsessed than others and needed a label for it. It doesn't matter, probably. I don't much care for being labeled. _Orphan. Head Boy. Tom Marvolo Riddle._ "

"Lord Voldemort," Bellatrix dared to whisper, and her fingers tightened a little on his chest. There was a flare of heat where she touched him, and Voldemort let his eyes flutter shut. He heard Bellatrix whisper, "If there is such a thing as being Kindred, and we are that thing, then I suspect we are more powerfully so than others. But I don't mind it. It comforts me to feel you this strongly."

"I don't mind it, either," Voldemort admitted, "even if it means hearing music from a phantom band. Now… Bellatrix, wife and assassin and terrifyingly instinctive Legilimens… dance with me in this cramped little bathroom, will you? We're going to dance all over this little cottage until the moment we leave."

 **Author's Note: So, maybe they are particularly bonded, but it doesn't** _ **really**_ **matter. And will Bellatrix be able to or need to apply her Occlumency/Legilimency skills with anyone other than Voldemort? Or is it their bond that makes her so attuned to his mind and vice versa? Hmm… If you are still reading, THANK YOU and please do share your thoughts with me. Thanks!**


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's Note: Fair warning that there is brief, not-super-explicit non-con in this chapter._

"Bella! Thank you for coming over; I've been bursting at the seams and it didn't seem right to tell you through an owl."

Druella Black ushered her daughter through the foyer and into the sitting room, and Bellatrix's eyebrows went up at the sight of the tea cart that had been set up. Druella sat slowly, a broad smile crossing her face.

"What's going on?" Bellatrix asked sceptically, pouring herself a cup of tea and squeezing in a lemon. Her mother laughed nervously and said,

"Apparently Lucius wasn't to be outdone by the Mulciber boy. He made a big show of it. Of… of asking Cissy to marry him!"

"Oh! Cissy's engaged!" Bellatrix sipped at her tea and nodded. This wasn't a surprise, of course, but she feigned more happiness than she really felt. She felt very little, especially knowing that Lucius had been at those awful parties.

"And guess when they're going to be married?" Druella asked, beaming so brightly Bellatrix thought she'd burst. "Instead of the normal Christmas party this year, the Malfoys will be hosting a wedding! A nice festive wedding. Oh, can't you just see her with nice long lace sleeves and big fluffy skirt on her gown?"

"Wait." Bellatrix set her tea down and shook her head. "That's hardly enough time to plan a wedding even if she were here, but she's at school."

"Your father and I married during our last year," Druella reminded Bellatrix, and Bellatrix protested,

"Yes, you were swollen up pregnant with me taking your final exams. Rather distasteful, I should say."

"Distasteful," Druella repeated, her smile vanishing. She adjusted the way she sat, and she snapped, "You are the widow of a war hero, the wife of our lord and master. How fortunate for you. And you can't find it yourself to be genuinely happy for your little sister, hm?"

"Why should I be happy about Narcissa and Lucius being married and sleeping in their dormitories, sneaking off to try and put a child in her instead of doing homework? It's disgusting! They ought to wait, like Dolph and I did!"

"Ha!" Druella scoffed angrily. "You're one to talk. You certainly didn't wait very long after your husband's death before taking up with another -"

"Stop right there," Bellatrix seethed. Her mother's mouth hung open like a fish, and Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. "Just because Daddy couldn't wait to shag you until you left school does not mean you should want the same for your youngest daughter. I'm going to ask the Dark Lord to command that they wait until -"

"What an awful sister you are!" Druella shrieked, and Bellatrix threw up an eyebrow.

"You're right, Mummy. I _am_ the wife of the Dark Lord. Your Dark Lord. I am your daughter, yes, but I am also your Lady. You will not interrupt me. Narcissa and Lucius will wait to marry until after they've school. This nasty idea of school children wearing wedding bands with their uniforms, being swollen pregnant beneath their jumpers? It's unacceptable."

"Well, if it weren't for me being a pregnant student, you'd not have been born," Druella reminded Bellatrix. "And how dare speak of your father _shagging_ me? What a wretched and disgusting thought."

Now Bellatrix choked out a laugh and rose, shaking her head.

"If only that was the most disgusting thought about Daddy I'd been forced to have."

"What on Earth is that supposed to mean?" Druella flew to her feet, and Bellatrix hesitated. Then, deciding she was angry enough to throw her mother a mouldy sort of bone, she said quite calmly,

"Why don't you ask Daddy about Edwina Fawley?"

"What, Rodolphus' girl?" Druella seemed acutely uncomfortable, and Bellatrix smirked.

"Yes… Rodolphus' girl. And Daddy's, too. He was very, very fond of Edwina Fawley when he still had the ability to take her."

Druella's face went scarlet, then drained of all colour.

"What are you…" She trailed off and shook her head, whispering, "You should leave."

"Right. Narcissa and Lucius will marry in the summer, then." Bellatrix started toward the door, and she was out into the corridor when her mother barked from behind her,

"Bellatrix!"

She turned round, supremely collected, and Druella dug her teeth into her burgundy-painted lip before she said in a very hurt voice,

"You have spent your entire life ruining things as though it were a hobby for you. Breaking people's hearts, hurting people because you enjoy it. What a sadistic little monster you have been, from the moment I first felt you kick my lung from within me."

Bellatrix nodded and folded her hands before her as she tipped her head and said in a low murmur, "Oh, poor Mummy. If you knew half the things I'd done, it would kill you, I think. Goodbye."

Without another word, she Disapparated from the foyer, coming to in the gardens outside Malfoy Manor.

* * *

Bellatrix honestly couldn't wait to tell Voldemort about Narcissa's engagement. He'd agree with her, she knew, that Hogwarts students shouldn't be running around married and pregnant. It was uncouth, and it made his movement look perverse. He would not approve one bit of Narcissa Black graduating from Hogwarts with a great round belly, months away from birthing a child.

"Excuse me. My Lady?"

She whirled around halfway down a corridor to see Cato Burke coming toward her. She frowned a little but then forced a pleasant enough expression upon her face. He may have fallen out of Voldemort's graces because of the parties he'd organised, but he was still a Death Eater, as well as her own father's financial apprentice.

"Hello, Cato," she said lightly. Cato shocked her by raising his wand and barking firmly,

" _Imperio!_ "

Bellatrix reeled back a few steps as green smoke washed over her. She fought off the Curse and started to reach for her own wand.

" _Expelliarmus. Imperio! IMPERIO!_ "

Cato caught Bellatrix's wand and then cast the Imperius Curse with so much force that Bellatrix almost fainted. But then she stood, feeling compelled to silently follow Cato Burke down the corridor and into a small library. She stood quietly, unable to make herself speak. Cato shut the door and tucked Bellatrix's wand away.

"Bella," he said, and Bellatrix shivered as he came to stand before her. Suddenly his face didn't seem kind at all; he seemed cruel to the marrow of his bones. He smiled a little and took Bellatrix's face in her hands just like Voldemort always did. He bent and kissed her, and something compelled Bellatrix to kiss him back. She was completely disgusted. He tasted awful. He smelled like tobacco and he tasted like it, too. He tasted like beer, like old food. His tongue was slimy and thick in her mouth, and she whined in protest before something told her to be silent again.

 _HELP!_ she screamed inside her mind. _Please, My Lord, help me. Please help me._

"You and I were just children," Cato whispered, reaching for Bellatrix's hand and shoving it beneath his robes. Her hand went into the unbuttoned waist of his trousers, and when her fingers wrapped around his penis, she said softly,

"You're so much smaller than him."

Cato ignored her, hissing with delight as her hand moved the way he wanted. He put his lips beside Bellatrix's neck and mumbled,

"First Rodolphus got to have you, and then the Dark Lord, but I have been watching you… _wanting_ you. All those other stupid girls at the party… I always thought of you, Bella. Oh, yes, just like that. I'll be inside of you in a moment, and this will all -"

" _STUPEFY!"_

Bellatrix gasped as Cato Burke's body shot away from her, rocketing toward the bookshelves so hard that a great number of hardcover tomes fell onto his unconscious body. She shook where she stood, turning slowly to face Voldemort. Her eyes watered as she read horror on his face. He approached her and whispered,

" _Finite Incantatem._ "

Bellatrix blinked as the Curse was lifted off of her. She clutched desperately at Voldemort's robes and asked,

"How did you know I was here?"  
"I felt… I felt you screaming. In your mind. Begging for help. I could feel you were somewhere over here; I could sense you. I dashed out of my office and a portrait told me that Cato Burke had Imperiused you and taken you into this office. Bella, what did he do to you?"

Bellatrix couldn't discuss it. She shook her head madly and rushed over to Cato's unconscious form. She rifled through his robes until she found her wand, and then she rose and staggered back a few steps.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

There was a blinding green flash of light, and Cato didn't move, but Bellatrix could tell as the colour faded a bit from his lips that he was dead. She trembled as she stared at the body. Voldemort came up beside her, aimed his wand at Cato, and whispered,

" _Corpus Evanesco._ " The body Vanished into Non-Being, and Voldemort asked again, more calmly, "Bella, what did he do to you?"

"He kissed me," Bellatrix said numbly. "He tasted awful. He made me kiss him back; I didn't want to kiss him back. He made me touch his tiny little cock. He said he was going to be inside of me."

"Well, he's dead now," Voldemort pointed out, his own voice an unsteady growl, "and he's lucky you acted quickly, because I would have taken weeks and weeks to kill that boy. I would have ripped his limbs off one at a time and let the wounds fester. I would have taken his teeth out one by one; I would have castrated him and made him eat his own… he is so very lucky that you got to him quickly, Bellatrix."

She turned to stare up at him, watching as he flicked his wand to Banish the books back to the shelves. His voice was very firm then as he snapped,

"Every Death Eater will know that Cato Burke was a pervert and an assailant of the Dark Lady. His body is gone; there will be no memorial for him. He lived a shameful life and died a shameful death. A traitor. They will know he was a traitor."

"I came here to ask you if you'd command my sister to put off her wedding until the summer," Bellatrix mumbled, feeling dizzy and nauseated all of a sudden. Voldemort scowled.

"We can discuss that later."

"If you don't mind," Bellatrix said, reaching to hold his hand, "I should like… to discuss it now. Master."

He seemed confused, but he shrugged and gulped. "All right. What, they were going to marry during the school year?"

"At Christmas," Bellatrix whispered. Then she shut her eyes and said, "I fought with my mother. I told her to ask my father about Edwina Fawley. Please command Narcissa and Lucius to wait; it looks bad for the movement to have pregnant students."

"I agree," Voldemort said carefully. "Bella, I think we should go home. You need some Draught of Peace, a long shower, and some Dreamless Sleep. All right?"

Bellatrix said nothing for a moment, until finally she thought, _He tasted awful._

"He's gone now." Voldemort's forehead was tipped against hers as he added, "My rage would have been unleashed in its entirety upon him not just because he insulted me as his master, or because you are my wife, but because I love you more than any wizard has ever loved any witch, and he hurt you. I will not let people hurt you, Bella."

He said that last bit so roughly that Bellatrix opened her eyes and looked up at him. Tears were streaming from his eyes, which had gone crimson with anger. Bellatrix was utterly shocked; she had never, ever seen Lord Voldemort _cry_. She hadn't even imagined that such a thing could be possible.

"I felt you, desperate. I panicked. I thought… if anyone was hurting you… I will not let people hurt you." Voldemort shook his head and swiped at his tears. He aimed his wand and his face and cast a silent incantation to stop his crying, but he didn't seem as humiliated about it as Bellatrix might have thought. He took her face in his hands, sliding his fingers into her hair. Cato had done this, which had repulsed Bellatrix. But the feel of her master, her lord and husband doing it made her sigh with relief. He bent to brush his lips against her cheekbone, and he said again,

"I would have spent weeks killing that boy."

"I should have saved him for you," Bellatrix nodded. "I would have enjoyed watching you make him suffer. I acted impulsively."

"You executed him, as was your right," Voldemort insisted. He kissed her other cheek and whispered one more time, "Bellatrix, I will not let anyone hurt you."

"A very long shower, you said," she mumbled, "and some Dreamless Sleep? That sounds nice. Will you take me home?"

He slipped her hand into his and led her silently from the library, a room Bellatrix vowed never to enter again.

 _ **Author's Note: Raise your hand if you knew Cato Burke was going to meet a messy end! But Voldemort showed a very, very human side here, no? Even with red eyes, talking about weeks of torture, he's at his most human when his Bella is in danger. Very telling.**_

 _ **Normally, I wouldn't get this way about reviews, but the feedback on this fic has been extremely sparse considering the number of hits on each chapter. If I'm writing for myself, that's fine, but since people are reading this story, I would really love your thoughts and some feedback. So I'll ask one quick favor - if you've made it this far through Robbers' Retreat and All is All and One Alone and haven't yet reviewed, please do me a massive solid as the author and take thirty seconds to just let me know if you're enjoying the storyverse, some small thing you've noticed, etc. I'll be more grateful for the communication than you know.**_

 _ **THANK YOU for reading. I know Bellamort is a niche ship, and I'm grateful for each and every one of you.**_


	14. Chapter 14

"Cato Burke is dead."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes as whispers rippled round the meeting table, and he hissed,

"Silence."

Quiet fell, and Voldemort sniffed as he folded his hands on the table. He stared at each Death Eater, lingering on every set of eyes until discomfort settled in. Finally he stated matter-of-factly,

"Cato Burke tried to steal from me, to destroy something that is very valuable to me. He violated the most important part in my existence, and because of that egregious and unforgivable offence, he is dead. He lived as a coward, died a traitor, and there will be no more talk of him. Anyone who mentions his name will face my Cruciatus Curse, and I'll know, because I've placed a Taboo upon his name. Speak of him, and you will know my wrath."

Expressions of fear and little trembles worked their way through the gathered Death Eaters. Bellatrix, though, just stared straight ahead, as though she found the wood paneled wall to be supremely entrancing. There was a dull lack of life in her gaze that unsettled Voldemort. He cleared his throat and said rather sharply to his father-in-law,

"Cygnus. Your disowned daughter Andromeda has married the Mudblood Ted Tonks. She has the gall to sully further still the great House of Black bloodline… she is carrying the offspring of the Mudblood."

Everyone except Bellatrix glared at Cygnus, who went red-faced and mumbled,

"Though our middle daughter is dead to us, Master, her behaviour is still our most profound shame. Whatever mewling infant she produces with the Mudblood is no grandchild of ours. We mourned Andromeda the day she made her intentions clear."

"Still, all terribly shameful," Voldemort nodded. "A disgrace. But there is hope. Your eldest daughter is the Dark Lady, and your youngest daughter has just become engaged. Congratulations, Cygnus. Abraxas."

"Thank you, My Lord," nodded Abraxas rather happily. Voldemort held up a long finger and clarified,

"There will be no Christmas wedding."

Abraxas' face stilled halfway through the act of smiling, leaving him with a nervous, uncertain sort of expression. Voldemort looked around the table and said very firmly,

"From this day forward, the policy is as follows. All Pureblood witches and wizards who become engaged whilst still in school must wait to marry until successfully completing their education. It is uncouth and distasteful to have married or pregnant students at Hogwarts or Durmstrang, and it gives the movement of Blood Purity a tone I quite dislike. Every marriage going forward requires my explicit permission. Abraxas, Cygnus, your children have my blessing to marry next summer, once they've finished school. You may celebrate their engagement at the Malfoy Christmas party. Write to Narcissa and Lucius to inform them. My decision is final."

"Yes, Master," Cygnus nodded, a little too vigorously. Abraxas looked annoyed but nodded. Voldemort took a long moment to let everything settle, to study the faces of his followers and to sense the loyalty and fear coming off them in waves. Finally, he asked quietly,

"Any questions? No? Dismissed, then."

Everyone stood and left, everyone but Bellatrix, who stayed in her chair and stared at the wall. Voldemort waited until the door shut behind Yaxley and Avery, and then he drummed his fingers on the table and murmured,

"Bella."

"Yes, Master?" Her voice was a hoarse whisper, and her lips looked dry and pale. He huffed a little breath and stood, walking over to her chair and holding out his right hand to her.

"Please, Bellatrix, will you dance with your husband?"

"Dance?" She looked up and him and shook her head, her eyes brimming. "I'm afraid I don't feel much like dancing."

Voldemort glanced down at his hand, which remained untouched, and then studied Bellatrix's face. She had resisted his Imperius Curse to eat this morning, and she'd refused to take Famishing Draught. She was sallow and white from the last few days of this, of being just a little broken by what had happened with Cato Burke.

"I wish I'd let you spend weeks on him," she said suddenly. "I wish I could have seen you tear him apart one piece at a time. I wish I hadn't been a fool and killed him so quickly."

"You are many things, Bellatrix, but a fool is not one of those things." Voldemort lowered his hand and said crisply, "Come to my office this afternoon a few minutes after three-thirty. I've summoned someone for you as a treat."

Bellatrix looked very confused. "A treat, My Lord?"

"Someone you can play with. I hope it will give you a little comfort to do so. I hope it may help you feel some measure of happiness. So come to my office, and bear in mind that you may say absolutely anything you want to say."

"Who is it?" Bellatrix asked, and she whispered, " _Legilimens._ "

"No!" Voldemort scoffed a laugh and threw up his Occlumency shields, shoving her out of his mind. He shook his head. "Allow me this little surprise, will you? I very much look forward to you… being you."

Bellatrix smirked, and he saw just a little bit of light in her eyes as she nodded. "Three thirty-two this afternoon, then."

* * *

"Miss Fawley. Do come in."

"Yes, My Lord." The lithe blonde witch followed Voldemort into his office. He stayed aloof as he sat at his desk and shut the door with a flick of his wand. Edwina Fawley seemed unsure of whether to sit, and Voldemort gave her no permission to do so, so she stood. She had come dressed in a scandalously short skirt of pale pink satin with a black caped top and black shiny pumps. She carried a pink purse, long and thin to accommodate her wand, and her blonde hair had been pulled into an elegant French twist. She had come to flirt, Voldemort thought. He peered into her mind with Legilimency and sensed that the girl was wondering if she was here for sex. Voldemort barked a little laugh and said softly,

"With no offence intended, Miss Fawley, you are not my type, and I am not available. Nor were any of the wizards at those parties, though that hardly seemed to stop you."

Edwina's pale pink lips fell open, but before she could say anything, there was a knock on the door, and Voldemort smiled a little. It was her. Not only was she a minute early, but he could tell it was her because of whatever strange bond they'd developed. He could sense her soul, the essence of her, on the other side of that door.

"Enter," he commanded, and when she came in, a flash of surprise came over Bellatrix's face. Edwina Fawley looked shocked, then frightened, and she dipped into a little curtsy and murmured,

"My Lady."

"Edwina. Hello. Nice to see you," Bellatrix said very brightly. She gave Voldemort a look, waiting until their eyes locked, and he felt her think, _Play along, Master?_

He nodded silently, and she approached his desk, her own flat boots silent on the ground. She stepped right up to Lord Voldemort, to the supernaturally powerful wizard everyone else feared, and she took his face in her hands. She kissed his forehead, and he said just loudly enough for Edwina to hear,

"Well, that feels a little insufficient, My Lady."

She gave him a warm, loving smile, and she pressed her lips to his and stroked at his jaw. "Hello, there," she said as she pulled away. Edwina was wide-eyed, and Voldemort didn't need to look into her mind to feel that she thought she was going to die.

"I don't think the Dark Lady's feeling particularly murderous, Miss Fawley," Voldemort assured her. He reached for Bellatrix's fingers and tangled them with his own, and he gave a dark laugh before he said, "I can usually tell when she's lusting... for blood."

"Oh, Master." Bellatrix squeezed at Voldemort's hand and grinned, stepping around the desk. She bounced a little on the balls of her feet when she stood staring up at Edwina, and he could feel her mood lifting by the second. Bellatrix folded her hands before her and said in a teasing voice,

"Settle a debate between the Dark Lord and myself, will you, Edwina? You see, he and I have a little disagreement, but you have the answer."

"I… I do?" Edwina started to cry silently, sending mascara dribbling down her cheeks. Bellatrix aimed her wand at Edwina, who flinched, but Bellatrix just cleaned up Edwina's face and stopped the tears. She barrelled on in a delighted voice,

"We can't figure out who was better."

Edwina scowled. "Erm… who was better, My Lady?"

"Yes!" Bellatrix took a step toward Edwina, glaring up at her now as her feigned grinning transformed into a snarl. "Who was better, Edwina? My husband or my father?"

Edwina pinched her lips and said nothing. Bellatrix waited for an excruciatingly long time, and then she asked directly,

"Who did a better job of fucking you, Edwina? Was it Rodolphus or my father? Or was it my brother-in-law-to-be? You fucked him too, didn't you? How much did my Dolph pay you for your troubles? How much did my father pay you?"

Edwina shook where she stood, clutching tightly at her bag and shaking her head.

"Lump sum," Voldemort said softly. "How much did you receive from Rodolphus Lestrange and Cygnus Black?"

Edwina shut her eyes and said in a shaking voice, "We were paid by Cato Burke. The wizards gave him money and it was split equally among the girls at the end of the party."

"So you are, by the strictest definition, a complete and utter whore," Bellatrix nodded. "But how much did you get, all told?"

Edwina shrugged and said in a resigned sort of voice, "Fifty Galleons?"

Bellatrix cackled and put her hands on her hips. "Is that all? You poor thing. A _cheap_ whore. And you didn't even know what you were missing. Do you know that our master is at least twice the size Rodolphus was?"

Voldemort had to turn his face away to conceal his amused expression then. He couldn't keep his face stoic. This was too delicious. Edwina squeaked,

"N-No, My Lady. I wouldn't know that."

"No, you wouldn't. The Dark Lord is faithful, unlike Dolph was. Unlike my father is toward my mother, or Lucius toward my sister. Master, have you got some coin?"

Voldemort silently opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a velvet drawstring bag. The bags in this drawer were colour coded. Black velvet bags had ten Galleons in small denominations. Red bags had fifty Galleons divided up with Sickles and Knuts. Green bags had one hundred Galleon coins. He kept them to give as prizes, as rewards, when he felt it was appropriate. Now he took out a green bag and slid it across the desk, and as Bellatrix picked it up, he said,

"That's a hundred, My Lady."

"One hundred Galleons." Bellatrix held the bag out to Edwina, and she said, "Here. This is twice what you received in exchange for fucking my husband and my father. Take this money in exchange for keeping your filthy cunny away from my sister's intended, away from my father, away from… well, just about everyone, really. Keep it to yourself. Here. Buy yourself some nice clothes with this; I'll bet it's enough to afford a longer skirt."

Voldemort turned away again and desperately tried not to laugh. He'd never felt so in love with Bellatrix, not ever. He flicked his eyes up to see Edwina mutter with pink cheeks,

"My Lady, I couldn't possibly accept -"

"Oh, it's not optional," Bellatrix snapped, shoving the bag of money into Edwina's hands. "Now get out of this office and stop shagging married wizards. You little slut."

She spat that last word, and a look of sheer pain crossed Edwina Fawley's face. She whispered something, and Bellatrix barked,

"What was that? Couldn't hear you."

"I said that I'm very sorry, My Lady. My Lord." Edwina glanced quickly at Voldemort and Bellatrix and then made a dash for the door. Bellatrix let her go, and the door shut very quietly behind Edwina. Bellatrix was practically vibrating with excitement. She was almost glowing when she turned to Voldemort and whispered,

"Thank you."

He nodded. "My pleasure."

"I need you," she said simply, and he nodded again, pushing his chair back a little. As Bellatrix approached him, he could feel himself flushing hard. She was so beautiful like this, triumphant and vicious and _his_. He opened his outer robe and unbuttoned the placket of his trousers, using both hands to pull himself out, feeling everything go hard beneath his palms the closer Bellatrix got. He glanced down and wondered if Bellatrix had been exaggerating when she'd said he was twice as big as Rodolphus had been.

"Not really," Bellatrix said casually as she hiked her skirt up and yanked her knickers down. She kicked them away and straddled Voldemort in his chair, dragging her fingers around and up his shaft and over his tip. He groaned softly, and she informed him, "He was perfectly normal, but you… _you_ … are monstrous."

"Am I?" Voldemort gulped. "Am I a monster?"

"Yes," she reassured him, and she lifted herself up and started to lower herself. She cried out and grabbed at his shoulders as he stretched her entrance, and she whispered, "Please, just impale me. I can't make my body… help, please."

He snatched her tiny waist beneath his hands and wrenched her down, eliciting a shriek of pleasure and pain mingling in the dusty office air. She buried her face in his neck and started to move on him as best she could, and he whispered,

"I can take the pain away."

"I like it," she said, her breath hot on his neck. She kissed him there as she moved, and everything started to feel like a warm glow flowing from her body into his and back again. When they came, it was strangely simultaneous and oddly calm, a quiet detonation that shot through their veins in the same moment. As his seed filled her, Voldemort was suddenly confident and aware of the way their heartbeats had synced up. He snared his fingers in her hair and brought her mouth to his, kissing her hard as the explosive pleasure faded into shared, shaking breaths and a tingling heat.

"Thank you," Bellatrix murmured against his lips again. "Thank you. Thank you."

"For you, Bella, I would destroy mountains or build cities. Letting you play with Edwina Fawley really was the least I could do. I just want you to be happy."

She pulled back a little as he slid out of her, and both of them ignored the mess that leaked out between their bodies. Bellatrix asked seriously,

"Does it make you happy, My Lord, when I am happy?"

"Yes," he said confidently. "It does."

She curled up her lips and locked her gaze onto his, sending his chest into a flurry of racing excitement and deep affection. She nodded and thought, _I love you so much that I don't know what to do about it._

"You live your life beside me," he said. "That's what you do about it, Bella. My Bella… _My_ Bellatrix…"

He kissed her again, and this time he didn't bother coming up for air. She was his air.

 **Author's Note: I just want to extend a HUGE thank-you to those who were kind enough to review the last chapter. It was very reassuring and encouraging to hear from readers for the first time (and again from regular reviewers). Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I'm at the opera tomorrow (** _ **Turandot**_ **at the Lyric in Chicago. Woo hoo!) and have a party earlier in the day, so I likely won't update until Sunday. I hope this tides you over in the meantime. Thank you so much for reading!**


	15. Chapter 15

"M-My Lord?"

Bellatrix watched him look up from the toast upon which he was spreading egg yolk. He frowned at her, and she knew why. She was thinner than ever, and he was displeased.

"My Lord," she said again, feeling dread wash over her, "I'm afraid I have to ask you something rather… delicate."

Voldemort's frown deepened, and he set down his toast. The breakfast nook was bright and sunny, but it felt frigid all of a sudden. Still, he said,

"I certainly hope you know you can discuss matters of all kinds with me, Bellatrix. Nothing can be delicate between you and I. Speak frankly."

Bellatrix cleared her throat and nodded, steeling herself a bit. "I am wondering if it possible, Master, for the Famishing Draught or anything else to interfere with bodily functions."

"What bodily functions?" His voice was a cold snap in the bright air, and Bellatrix licked her dry bottom lip nervously.

"Bleeding."

He blinked. "You are late? By how much?"

"Eleven days, Master," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort's face drained of colour almost instantly. He was grey and looked queasy as he shut his eyes for a moment. Then he murmured,

"It is possible that something interfered with your contraceptive potion. If you're that late, you're almost certainly pregnant."

"No, My Lord," Bellatrix said quickly, and when he shot her a confused glare, she assured him, "I took four tests. One the day after I was meant to bleed, and most recently last night. They're all negative. I am not pregnant. Still, it troubles me that I am not… you know, that things are not in order."

Voldemort scoffed quietly then, and Bellatrix felt a bit offended by the way he seemed to be mocking her. He stared out the window and dragged his thumb along his chin, which he had not yet shaved, and he said quietly,

"If you're not pregnant and you're not bleeding, Bella, then it's because you are starving."

"But I'm not!" she protested boldly, gesturing down to her plate. "I ate half a piece of toast with some egg!"

"Yes, and it's the most you've eaten in one sitting in a week, and it took a potion _and_ convincing and well over an hour." He turned his angry eyes to her, and she watched them soften as he let out in a miserable, cracked sort of voice, "You are withering, Bellatrix, right before my eyes. And you've kept this bit a secret from me for eleven days. Quite the Occlumens you are, to keep such secrets from your master. Well, I've my own secret for you. I met with a Healer yesterday."

"A Healer?" Bellatrix poked her finger at the half-eaten toast, trying and failing to convince herself to pick it up and eat it. Voldemort said in a rough tone,

"Yes, a member of Crabbe family who's loyal to my cause. I didn't tell him about the Horcrux, of course. I thought about it. Thought of Imperiusing him into giving me answers with full knowledge, then Obliviating him. But of course he knows nothing of substance about Horcruxes. Only you and I _really_ know anything about them, and apparently we do not know enough. But I explained to Healer Crabbe that your body seems to reject the very notion of eating. I commanded him to give me solutions, to prescribe a strategy that would save you from wasting away. And do you know what he said?"

"What did he say?" Bellatrix whispered, trying very hard not to cry. Voldemort scowled.

"He told me to use a Confundus Charm in combination with Famishing Draught."

"Oh." Bellatrix sighed. That was even less than they were doing now. She picked up the toast, but some force kept her from putting it into her mouth. She stared at the uneaten back bacon, the beans, the roast potato, the porridge and apple slices… Voldemort had sent for all manner of food in hopes that something would appeal to Bellatrix. But all she'd managed was a half slice of bread with some yolk.

"You have a Horcrux, Bellatrix, but I have absolutely no desire to find out what it means to really need it," Voldemort said, and Bellatrix heard more hurt than ever in his voice. She forced her eyes up to his, but he was staring out the window again. His throat bobbed, and he said,

"I do not often speak of my own fear. That is because I have so very rarely felt fear in my life, even in situations where, perhaps, fear was warranted. I am not a fearful man, Bellatrix, but I am afraid now. I am afraid that one day you'll faint from the starvation and you won't come back. I am afraid I'll wake up in the morning to find you cold and still beside me. That your heart will be so weak that it will simply stop beating. And whilst I quite like the notion of wizarding Britain belonging to me, it is meaningless if I haven't got you. And I do not want to find out what it means to need the Horcrux."

"I understand, Master," Bellatrix nodded. "I will… keep trying…"

She had nothing substantive to say to him right now. She reached across the table and touched at his elbow, and finally he turned his head a little. Bellatrix tried to smile, tried to reassure him with her eyes, but they burned too badly for that. She finally whispered,

"Will you dance with me?"

"Here? Now?" He huffed a little breath and nodded. "If that's what you want?"

He stood and came around the table. Bellatrix took his hand and let him lead her out of the breakfast nook into the sunny yellow sitting room next door. He pulled her into a dancing stance, and suddenly Bellatrix heard music in her mind. It was ghostly and distant, but clear enough to make out the instrumentation. Clarinet, trumpet, drums, trombone, double bass…

She knew this sort of music. Swing music. She smiled weakly up at Voldemort and shook her head.

"Slow it down. It's too fast."

He smirked. "What, you think I come up with these musical hallucinations all on my own? I didn't choose the music."

"But I can't dance to this!" Bellatrix complained. Voldemort looked around and shrugged.

"No one's watching. We might as well try."

Bellatrix laughed a little, but then Voldemort began to move her, and he informed her,

"This sort of thing was very popular when I was young."

"Was it?" She followed him into a little pattern of rocking forward and back, then stepping out and coming back. She tried to keep up with the fast beat of the music in her head, and Voldemort nodded down to her.

"Yes. People used to play the phonograph in the Slytherin Common Room and dance to music just like this. That's probably where it's coming from… a memory. I've heard this song; people danced to it all the time at school."

"Did they?" Bellatrix sounded like an idiot, she knew, but she was too focused on not falling out of step to say anything real. Voldemort slid his hand down to the small of her back and said gently,

" _Forward, back, out, back… one, two, three, four._ You feel it?"

"Yes," Bellatrix whispered, her eyes locked onto his. They danced like that for a long while, and then the music in their heads kicked up with a great swell on the drums and a wild spree of notes from the clarinet. Voldemort curled up half his mouth and whispered,

"Spin."

"What?" Bellatrix didn't have time to think before he was whirling her outward. She twirled beneath his arm and then let him sweep her back into their rocking steps. He spun her out to the side after awhile, and it felt natural to whirl straight back into his arms. They rocked some more, and then Voldemort suddenly clutched Bellatrix's right hand in his and said almost gleefully,

"Hold on tight."

He slid his forearm beneath Bellatrix's right knee, and he tipped her back as their right hands cinched more tightly together. Bellatrix giggled like mad as he swung her back up and twirled her round again, and when she settled into their basic step, there was some bounce there.

"I feel like I could fly," she said rather impulsively, staring at Voldemort's bare chest and flannel pyjamas. To anyone else, she thought, they would look absolutely ridiculous, standing here swing dancing with amateurish clumsiness in a nightgown and pyjama trousers. But it felt like paradise to Bellatrix.

"I feel like I could fly," she said again, letting Voldemort spin her far out to the side and swirling quickly back into his arms. As they settled into the basic step once more, she could see that he was breathless and red-cheeked, though she wasn't sure if that was from exertion or something else.

"You feel like you could fly," he repeated, "but could you eat?"

He slowed their dance, and he kept his eyes locked solidly on Bellatrix's. She felt that golden web, that invisible link snare between them and draw them together, and she nodded as she thought,

 _I think I would like some of the porridge. And apples. And bacon, and more toast, and -_

"Come." Voldemort dragged her from the sitting room, and the music in Bellatrix's mind faded into silence. As soon as she sat down, she snatched the bowl of porridge, not caring that it was cold as she shoveled it into her mouth with the spoon before her. She swigged at her orange juice and then cut up a rather large bite of back bacon. She chewed, gulped down more juice, and tipped her egg cup until all the remaining yolk dumped into a puddle on her toast. She barely took the time to spread it before she pushed it into her mouth, and after one last drink of juice, she shut her eyes and whispered,

"Oh. I… I hadn't realised quite how hungry I was."

"Bellatrix."

She raised her eyes to see Voldemort standing with his arms crossed over his chest. He said seriously,

"Intimate touch and tenderness between us inspires hunger for you. I have found this to be true on several occasions."

Bellatrix sipped a little more juice and nodded. "Yes, Master. I think that is so."

"Well," he said primly, "then might I suggest we make a better habit of dancing? Perhaps we can practice… a good Viennese waltz. Better moves for a two-step."

Bellatrix rose slowly and threaded her arms up around Voldemort's neck. "We'll not make fools of ourselves at the Malfoy Christmas party. We'll look like we know what we're doing."

"I mean to make love to you far more often," Voldemort said, tipping his forehead against Bellatrix's, "with a great platter of food waiting for you to devour as soon as I've finished devouring you."

"Mmph." She wanted him then, quite badly, but she managed to shut her eyes and whisper, "I'm not leaving you, Master."

"I've told you before," he said, "and I meant it. I will not let you fall. I will keep you standing, Bella. I will not let anyone else hurt you, and I will not let you fall, because you are mine. I took you because I needed you, because you were meant for me and because our souls are intricately entwined. I will not let anyone hurt you, and I will keep you standing, because you are mine and I adore you ferociously. You understand?"

Bellatrix stared up at him, watching his eyes flush burgundy and then ruby for a moment before going dark again. She nodded and said confidently,

"Yes, My Lord. I understand."

 **Author's Note: Ahhhh, Bellamort Fluff. 'Tis a strange and wondrous thing, no? I managed to get a quick update in at 1:30 am my time - desperately needed to write after the opera! In any case, thank you again so much for reading and a MASSIVE thank you to those who take a quick moment to leave feedback. I'd love to know what you're thinking as you read. Best wishes to all and stay warm if it's half as cold where you are as it is here in Chicago!**


	16. Chapter 16

"How is it possible?" Voldemort asked quietly as he buttoned up the tuxedo shirt of his dress robes. "How is it possible that it's only been a year? It feels rather like forever, in the best sort of way. Am I mistaken?"

"Of course not." Bellatrix turned from where she sat at her boudoir in their luxurious green bedroom in what had once been his father's manse. She held red lipstick in her hand, the sort that was Charmed to stay on all night, and she studied him for a moment before she said, "Everything moved quickly, didn't it? I fell in love with you so very quickly, and far more thoroughly than I'd thought I could ever do. I shall never forget that first dance."

"Your hair looks nice," Voldemort told her, for she'd kept it wild for him. She smirked a little and informed him,

"I haven't done my hair yet."

"Oh." Voldemort frowned a bit. "Leave it like that, will you?"

"Just a little Sleekeazy's, perhaps, but… I'll keep it down. I know you like it down, and giving you what you like is of the utmost importance to me."

Voldemort tipped his head a little and curled up half his mouth at her. He watched with some fascination as she carefully applied her lipstick and then spritzed some Sleekeazy's spray onto her hair, which kinked up more neatly and shone.

"Dumbledore issued his own edict on student marriage," he pronounced, slipping cufflinks through his sleeves. "He made it clear that students had to wait until after graduation to marry, or else face expulsion."

Bellatrix whirled from her mirror and scowled. "I'm sure he only said that because he got word somehow that you'd done it. He wants to undermine your authority by coming across as the last word on Hogwarts policy."

"Correct," Voldemort said crisply. "My guess is that some of the Slytherin students were being loose-lipped, in lessons or their Common Room, and Dumbledore heard of my proclamation that way. He'll find and exploit areas where we agree philosophically just so he can weaken my appearance of authority. But what he doesn't know - or perhaps he does; I don't care - is that I've got three students graduating in the spring who are Death Eater candidates."

"Three. Who are they, if I may ask?" Bellatrix put diamond stud earrings into her earlobes, and Voldemort finished buttoning the waist of his outer tuxedo robe. He slid on his polished black shoes and said,

"Avery's son, Harrold. Lucius Malfoy, of course. And… your sister Narcissa."

Bellatrix looked shocked. She stood from her boudoir, looking resplendent in a black silk dress whose wide skirt was perfect for dancing.

"Cissy wants to be a Death Eater? She's no soldier."

"No, she isn't," Voldemort agreed. "But she is your sister, the only one in my good graces. My instinct is to grant her the Dark Mark and keep her close in meetings. She can help Cerda Malfoy as hostess here at the headquarters. But, just like Cerda, she won't be in battles. She'd get killed on her first go."

"Thank you." He sensed relief washing off Bellatrix then. She knew that her sister would die if she tried to battle Dumbledore's forces. Bellatrix looked a little amused then and scoffed, "I'm sure she'll be uselessly pregnant a year from now, anyway. Speaking of which, Malika Shacklebolt is pregnant by Rabastan Lestrange. Did you know?"

"Yes," Voldemort said, staring into the bathroom mirror as he carefully parted and combed his hair. "I told him I expect a quiet, private marriage filed appropriately. I won't have Pureblood bastards floating about."

There was quiet then, and when he came out into the bedroom again, Bellatrix was staring at herself in her boudoir mirror. She pinched her lips and asked,

"Do I embarrass you, Master?"

He coughed a little laugh and shook his head. "Very much the opposite. If we don't go, we shall be late. Oh… did I tell you? I've linked the fireplace in the library here with the one in my office at Malfoy Manor. Floo Powder, off-network."

"Brilliant; it'll save us the walk up from the gardens," Bellatrix laughed. She walked with Voldemort out the bedroom and down the stairs into the library. As he took a fistful of Floo Powder, he said again,

"One year ago."

He turned his face to her as little grains of the powders leaked from between his fingers, and she smiled rather serenely.

"What a year it has been, My Lord."

She stepped into the stout fireplace with him, and he threw the powder, shouting, "Office of Lord Voldemort, Malfoy Manor."

Green flames devoured them then, and they came to stumbling out into Voldemort's office. Bellatrix had a bit of soot on her cheeks, so Voldemort cast a few quick spells to clean her up. Then he held out his arm and said tightly,

"My Lady."

"Master." She laced her arm through his, and together they walked out to the Malfoy Christmas Party.

* * *

"Cissy, Lucius. Congratulations."

Narcissa dipped into a curtsy that sent her silver tulle skirts poufing around her, and Lucius Malfoy bowed his head. His ice blond hair was neatly pulled back into a low ponytail, and he sounded stilted and formal as he said,

"My Lord, we were so grateful to receive your permission to wed."

"I'm sure you both understand the optics involved in having married students," Voldemort said, and Bellatrix surprised him by saying softly to Narcissa,

"You can go ahead and take a half dose of the annual potion, you know. To last you until after the wedding."

Voldemort cleared his throat and met Lucius' eyes, watching the boy's cheeks pink a little. Voldemort tipped his head and said,

"Do be careful not to get expelled in your last term over something like… fun in a broom closet."

"Of course not, Master," Lucius said, looking embarrassed. Bellatrix laughed a little and shook her head as she said to Narcissa,

"Mummy's still furious with me, and I'll bet she doesn't even remember why."

"She and Daddy had a good time in Switzerland, I think," Narcissa said, "though it's difficult to say."

"She seems contented enough," Bellatrix noted, and she glanced over to where her father had a hand on Druella's shoulder. Voldemort had informed her that he'd lifted the Curse on Cygnus, for after Bellatrix's argument with Druella, he'd feared that the marriage might break up. That wouldn't look good. So his in-laws had likely spent a week in Switzerland rekindling the physical part of their relationship. Bellatrix seemed to understand that, and her lip curled up a little in disgust.

"Bella," he said softly, and her face snapped up to him, obviously surprised by his use of her shortened name in public. He held out his right hand to her and said,

"I remember, a year ago, stealing you away for a dance whilst you talked to Narcissa and Lucius."

"You don't have to steal anymore, Master," Bellatrix said, putting her fingers into her palm. Narcissa and Lucius followed them out to the dance floor, and as they approached, people nodded and bowed and murmured platitudes. Voldemort made as much eye contact as he could, though he kept his smiles to himself. He made it to the dance floor just as a new waltz started up. Her hand slid up to his shoulder, and he clasped her fingers in his. He pressed his hand to her back and smiled a little, noting the way she'd worn a backless silk gown.

 _You like to touch me there,_ he felt her think, _and I like it, too._

"I mean to touch you all night, here and at home," Voldemort informed her. They began to waltz then - _one, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three._ Their movements were smooth and practised now after weeks of daily dancing at home to the music only they could hear. It was almost strange, dancing to the sounds of real strings played by real people. It was bizarre to have others round them while they danced, though other couples quickly moved out of the Dark Lord's way as he swept his Lady about.

He kept their hands together, but slid her out to his right, and they stepped in threes in a circle round each other, their eyes locked and their heartbeats syncing. Voldemort twirled Bellatrix beneath his arm and swept her back into a closed position, carefully positioning their arms. _One, two, three. One, two, three._ He stared down at her, just like he'd done the year before.

Everything was different now.

That night, he'd swayed uncertainly with her, the wife of another, young man. He'd wanted her, but he'd been fighting the sensation. He'd been shocked by the sensation of her skin beneath his fingers then. And he'd allowed himself one little dance, one stolen dance. But he'd stolen her in her entirety many months earlier, and now she was his, and now they were properly dancing.

He turned her around in a twelve-beat Fleckerl, crossing his feet carefully in front of each other as he rotated on the spot. She let her head fall back a little as she rotated around him, and he was suddenly aware that every single person in the ballroom was watching them. They waltzed a few more steps, and then he linked right arms with her above their heads, his left arm wrapping round her waist and meet her at the small of her back. They turned very slowly, stepping only on the downbeat, and they stared.

He lost himself again in her, even with everyone watching, and he didn't care. She was different now than she'd been a year ago. She was like a diamond that had been sharpened, made harder somehow. She'd made a Horcrux. She'd killed over and over for him. She'd fucked him into oblivion and tortured him with ecstasy. She was everything.

 _You are everything._

He wasn't sure whether she'd thought that or whether he had done it. It didn't matter, probably. It seemed like a shared sensation.

 _Step-together-step. Step-together-step._ They skipped a little and then twirled Bellatrix beneath Voldemort's arm, her black silk skirts rippling up around her. Somewhere halfway across the dance floor, Narcissa and Lucius stood with Druella and Cygnus, with Abraxas and Cerda. People were watching. People were staring. People had stopped dancing and just stood in awe of the Dark Lord solemnly staring down at his young wife, at their Dark Lady, dancing like this.

 _One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three._ They waltzed a few more standard steps, and then Voldemort dipped her down just a little and rotated her until her back was to his chest. He threaded his left arm across her torso, holding her right hand in his. She reached up behind her and pressed her hand against his jaw. Voldemort felt a spike of want, and as he drew Bellatrix around in a slow circle, he thought to himself or to her,

 _You are everything._

He swept his arm beneath her leg and lifted her, and Bellatrix elegantly let her head fall back as though she were gracefully unconscious in her master's arms. He set her down and she immediately began stepping in time again, working her way back into a closed stance with him. The little orchestra finished off the waltz, and Voldemort reluctantly let his hand fall from Bellatrix's back. He took a step back and bowed as Bellatrix descended into a deep, slow curtsy.

There was wild applause, though Voldemort barely heard it. He could hardly breathe, but it wasn't from the exertion of being a forty-five-year-old man dancing with a lovely young woman. It was _her,_ the essence of her, the core of her being. She had rendered him helpless, just like she'd down a year earlier. Bellatrix stared up at him and let him sweep her into a simple two-step, a Christmas carol the orchestra had begun playing. This time they just danced neatly, cleanly, without tricks or spins or dips or twirls. She just stared up at him, and he stared down at her, and nobody said anything.

Suddenly Voldemort couldn't help himself. His feet stopped moving, and he put his hands on Bellatrix's cheeks.

"Master," she whispered, as if in warning, but he just leaned down and kissed her, hard and for a very long time. She opened her mouth in shock, and he felt a scarlet blaze of alarm flare up inside of her. She reached frantically for his left hand, and she encouraged him to put his right hand up to her back again. She squeezed at his shoulder, and when at last he pulled his mouth away, Bellatrix stared up at him in round-eyed shock and whispered,

"Dance. We must dance _now_. Please, please."

"Right." Voldemort blinked quickly, settling back into the two-step. He saw Cygnus Black staring at him in fear. He saw Abraxas Malfoy and his son Lucius looking jealous. Most of the people in the room, as it happens, seemed paralysed with a blend of surprise and envy. Their master was happy in a way none of the rest of them were. He was confident in a way none of the rest of them could be. He was elegant and good-looking, and his wife was beautiful. He could feel their minds, through Legilimency and through their faces. Suddenly he didn't regret impulsively kissing Bellatrix, after all.

He spun her out, and she twirled three times until he wrapped his arms around her and dipped her low. As she came up, he whirled her beneath his hand and then danced a simple two-step with her again. After the dance ended, people clapped again, and Bellatrix murmured softly,

"Perhaps we ought to split up for awhile. You can talk to… to Yaxley. Mulciber. Nott. Avery. Someone, anyone but me."

He didn't want anyone but her, but of course she was right. He nodded crisply and said,

"Go see your mother and sister. I've got business to discuss. My Lady…" He bowed his head, and he thought to himself, _She is the most beautiful and extraordinary witch who has ever been born._

"Oh, if only I could be half as extraordinary as you, Master," Bellatrix breathed. They both hesitated to leave the other, releasing hands at last as Bellatrix hurried off toward her the Malfoys and her parents. Voldemort made his way to the table of wassail, and he ladled some into a glass mug. He stood holding it and waited for someone to come up to him. It didn't take long. Augustus Rookwood approached, bowing his head as he said,

"Master. I think I'm as pleasantly surprised as everyone else here about your extraordinary dance skills. And those of the Dark Lady. I had no idea."

"It is amazing what one can accomplish the right dance partner," Voldemort said simply, deciding to be deliberately vague about it all. Rookwood nodded and said,

"Master… I would like to introduce you at some point to a friend of mine. As you know, I attended Durmstrang, not Hogwarts. There, I had a friend called Igor Karkaroff. He is a professor at the school now, and he is extraordinarily enthusiastic about our cause. He is terrifying in duelling situations, ruthless and frankly rather bloodthirsty. I was wondering if… if you might thing…"

"Yes, it might be nice to have a Death Eater working for me at Durmstrang. Recruiting, operating on the Continent for me. Bring him to me sometime in the next few weeks, and I shall interview him."

Rookwood smiled happily. "Thank you, My Lord. I shall present several dates and times to see your availability. Enjoy the evening, Master."

"And you." Voldemort sipped from his mulled wine as Rookwood walked away. He turned his eyes to where Bellatrix stood with her family, staring right at him. Her eyes flashed red; he could see it even from here. He had to fight not to give her a contented smirk. He had to fight even harder not to walk right up to her and snare his arm around her and kiss her again. Instead he trained his eyes on Mulciber, deciding to discuss his son's upcoming wedding. He stalked across the ballroom, and he thought to himself,

 _How is it possible that it's only been a year?_

Then he felt something press against his mind, and he realised Bellatrix was using Legilimency on him. His feet stopped and he whirled around, glaring at her a little. He finally let down his Occlumency shields and locked eyes across the distance with her, the party bustling around them. Bellatrix sifted through his memories, and he watched the last year play out.

 _Dancing at the Malfoy Christmas party, becoming lost in each other… jealousy about Rodolphus, then possession, then anger… Obliviating Rodolphus… pulling Rodolphus' rings off her Splinched fingers and Vanishing half her hand… sex with Bellatrix, over and over again, better each time… marrying her, watching her make her Horcrux… building a new home with her in Little Hangleton, in the house where he'd killed his father… building their paradise… their bedroom, emerald green… dancing with her in what would have seemed like silence to everyone else. Being distracted by her, entranced by her. Falling in love with her, becoming devoted to her almost as fully as he was devoted to power._

Bellatrix pulled out of Voldemort's mind, and he watched her carefully swipe her knuckles along the bottoms of her eyes. She'd been moved to tears, seeing it all through his perspective. He just stared at her for a moment, then nodded and turned away, determined to talk with Mulciber.

 **Author's Note: Whew! That's a lot of fluff in two chapters. Sorry about that. Regularly scheduled Death Eater programming (read: all the juicy nasty bits) to resume after a lemon that you can probably see coming from a mile away. Mwah hahaha. Thanks for reading. Please do leave a review.**


	17. Chapter 17

_Beautiful. Mine. Beautiful. Mine._

She could feel the ideas racing through his mind, pulsing through the air into her own consciousness. Her dress and his robes had come off quickly once they got home, and they'd both had more than enough to drink for the night. They were clumsy now, staggering away from the pile of clothes and into the emerald green bedroom in The Master's Manor.

Suddenly Bellatrix found herself landing with an 'oof' on the brocade covers of the bed. Voldemort pushed her back onto the pillows and hovered above her, and when his eyes met hers, she felt it again. _So beautiful. She's mine_ , _and she's beautiful._

Bellatrix gasped as her wrists were snatched and pinned above her head by hands so much stronger than her own. Voldemort used his left hand to squeeze at her wrists, and he leaned his weight for a long moment against Bellatrix.

 _Can't breathe,_ she thought desperately after a moment, but the sensation made her flush wet between her legs. She was throbbing there, aching for attention, and Voldemort obliged her. He pushed his knee between her legs and roughly spread them open.

"Wider," he murmured against her lips, and Bellatrix obeyed. His right hand went between her thighs, knifing up to the place where she was swollen and warm. Voldemort's breath shook against Bellatrix's mouth, smelling of wine, and he dragged the pads of his fingers around her silky folds as he whispered, "So wet. You want me."

"I've wanted you since I saw you combing your hair before the party," Bellatrix panted, trying to make him kiss her. He pulled away a little and smirked, squeezing harder at her wrists and twisting two fingers into her entrance. Bellatrix moaned softly, desperately, and told him, "I wanted you when we were dancing. When you were talking to the others, when we danced again and again and -"

"Again," he finished for her. He kissed her cheek, then the other one, then her forehead, and Bellatrix thought quickly,

 _Oh, just kiss me!_

"Don't you dare get insubordinate," he snarled, but his tone was teasing. He buried his face between her neck and her shoulder, and he lathed his tongue there. Her wrists hurt from how hard he was holding them, and as he hooked and pumped his fingers, she felt so alive she couldn't take it. Her nipples were painfully erect, as was Voldemort's monstrous cock. He was gliding it along her flat stomach, and she arched her back up as he ground on her.

"More, please. Please. Please, please, _please."_

"More what?" Voldemort asked against her neck, and Bellatrix cried out in frustration. She bucked her hips against his hand and said,

"More of everything."

He laughed rather uproariously on her skin, his hand quickening and his lips caressing her. He ground his cock so hard on her stomach that she hissed, and he whispered into her ear,

"It's never enough for you, is it, Bella? I've got my fingers buried in your cunt. I've got your hands pin against the pillow. I'm rubbing your belly button with my cock and kissing your neck… and you ask for _more_. More? Selfish little thing. Greedy little creature. More, she says. Oh, I'll give you more, Bella."

She yelped then as she was roughly readjusted. Her hands were released, and he yanked his fingers out of her. He shoved her knees up and knelt between her legs, and he barked,

"Get your ankles on my shoulders, you young and flexible little nymph, so that your elderly husband can show you what it means to be fucked into oblivion."

Bellatrix couldn't help but smile at that, for his teasing was aggressive in a way that wouldn't have worked for any other couple. Someone else would have been confused by him, by his harsh words and actions under which lay a current of almost inconceivable admiration.

He put the tip of his cock at her entrance, and he slid his hands from her waist down over her hips and thighs. His fingers went to her clit, and he whispered,

"You make me so hard. You make me throb from the inside out. Can you feel it, Bellatrix? Feel what you make me feel."

She shut her eyes and breathed in, and then she could feel arousal, red and spiked and pulsing. It was his, and she could feel it, flowing into her and back into him. Could he feel her own want?

"Yes," he murmured. "Do you want to come, Bella?"

"Mmm-hmm." She kept her eyes and shut and felt his finger drag circles around her clit. Closer, closer, closer. She could feel herself winding up, a spiral of pleasure that was building and building.

 _I want to feel you come. Bella… come for me._

"Master." She opened her eyes and met his gaze, and then she wouldn't have been able to look away for all the world. He gave her a silent nod, and her bliss detonated. Heat flushed straight through her, and her vision blurred for a moment. She was clenching around the tip of her master's cock, and he pushed in a few inches as everything went hot and then faded very slowly. Bellatrix braced herself on Voldemort's forearms as he started to move.

"Merlin's Beard… I won't last two minutes… after that… oh."

Rushing through sex was a young man's burden, Bellatrix knew. He'd said so himself. And within two weeks, he'd be forty-six. But he'd also told her many times that she made his body hurtle to pleasure more quickly than his age would usually allow. She was, therefore, rather unsurprised when he only pumped his hips ten or twenty times before wrenching his eyes shut and filling her up with his come, his breath catching and then releasing with a shake.

Ten minutes later they were naked beneath the blankets, cleaned up with scrubbed teeth, and Bellatrix curled up against Voldemort as she whispered,

"Everyone watched us dance."

"I'm going to be meeting with someone new," Voldemort said, in what felt like an odd non sequiter. "Rookwood's got an acquaintance - a friend - from Durmstrang. Igor Karkaroff. I'll be vetting him to serve as a Death Eater on the Continent. I want support everywhere I can get it."

"I'm very glad for that, My Lord," Bellatrix said. She sighed and asked, "Should we be worried about attacks over the Christmas holidays? Everyone's… you know, relaxed. I feel like we ought to be on guard a bit more is all."

"It would have been unlike Dumbledore to attack a Christmas party, even one full of my associates," Voldemort said, "but given the fact that you're going to take out one of his minions next week… yes, we'll need to be on guard."

"Who am I taking out?" Bellatrix asked blandly. She shouldn't be so comfortable with killing, she thought distantly, but then she reminded herself that she was an assassin, and she raised her eyes to Voldemort.

"Arthur Weasley. Blood traitor."

"Yes. He was in school with me, a year ahead in Gryffindor," Bellatrix nodded. "He's married to a Prewett girl, another Blood Traitor."

"Well, I'd like for you to get him on the street outside the entrance to the Ministry. He works in the Muggle Artefacts office, and I want him found by Muggle police. In an alley or something. It feels appropriate that he should be intercepted on his way to work and then noticed missing, only to turn up in a Muggle morgue. It'll send a strong message to the Ministry, the _Prophet_ , and Dumbledore himself. We don't abide Blood Traitors and Muggle-lovers. Arthur Weasley is the worst example of those traits, so he must go, and quickly."

"I'll arrange the details and put together a plan of action, Master," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort hugged her more tightly against him.

"It blazes and burns," he murmured, and when she gave him a questioning look, he clarified, "The way I love you. It sears through me like a branding iron."

"I'm sorry." Bellatrix raised her brows, but he shook his head and assured her,

"I like the pain."

"They all watched us dance," Bellatrix whispered again, and he nodded as he quirked up a little smile.

"We did much better this time round. Twists and spins and lifts. Last year all I could manage to do was reprimand you for braiding your hair and touch you and be jealous of your husband."

"You are my husband now," Bellatrix pointed out, "and I am yours to the marrow of my bones, until the last sunset the Earth will ever see."

"Do you know what I would have done to Cato Burke, if I'd been given the chance?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix shook her head, her heart sinking. For as long as she lived, she would deeply regret killing Cato so quickly. She gnawed her lip as Voldemort rotated a little and said in a grave voice,

"I would have severed one limb and then cauterised the would, then let the limb sit beside him on the ground, rotting. I would have made him watch as maggots came to lay waste to the arms and legs I sliced off of him. I would have plucked out one tooth every hour until they were all gone, and then I would have sliced out his tongue. I would have taken organs away - one lung here, his stomach there - so that he felt immense pain and his body's functioning slowed and then stopped altogether. And in his last moments, I would have ripped off that tiny little pecker that he made you touch, and I would have shoved it into his toothless, tongue-less mouth and Imperiused him into eating it. And then I would have walked away and let him die, and a week later I'd Vanish the decrepit, deteriorated remains of the shell of his corpse."

Bellatrix just stared. She felt damp heat in her eyes, but she felt barely any emotion. Just regret.

"I should have let you have him," she whispered. "I was so hurt and so angry, and I wasn't thinking clearly. Forgive me."

"Don't worry." He tucked Bellatrix's hair behind her ear, the wild curls he so often spoke of liking, and he said, "In my dreams, I do all that to him. Night after night, I do those things to Cato Burke behind my eyelids, Bellatrix, because of what he did to you. But all that really matters is that he is gone, and that is gone by your hand is fine justice. You are everything. You know it, don't you? You are everything."

"No. I'm not." Bellatrix shook her head fiercely. " _You_ are, Master. Your reign, your power, your -"

"You are everything, because without you, there is nothing else," Voldemort whispered, looking very solemn indeed. "If I did not know that a piece of soul lay beside mine under the floorboards down the hill… Bella, if there was any chance that I would lose you and be expected to just go on without… I couldn't, you see. We are Kindred, I think, or something far more intrinsically snarled up than is normal. Our minds and our souls can not go on without the other, I don't suppose. And so… you are everything."

Bellatrix kissed the skin just above her master's heart, and she murmured onto his chest,

"The twenty-third. Two days before Christmas. It'll ruin the holiday for poor Molly and their little brats. I heard the second one was born just a week ago or so. I'll take Arthur out on the twenty-third."

"Good girl," Voldemort nodded. "Make your plans. Do it carefully. Do it right. Leave my Mark in the sky."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix hummed, kissing his skin again before slithering up more neatly beside him, shutting her eyes, and surrendering to sleep.

 **Author's Note: Just a little lemony interlude with some torture fantasy. Perfectly normal Bellamort. Haha. But… Arthur Weasley? That certainly throws a wrench into canon, doesn't it? Or will something/someone stop Bella from carrying out her mission? Hmm…**

 **Thank you for reading. I would absolutely love to hear people's thoughts about the last few chapters (especially the Dark Lord's Viennese Waltz) since it's a bit more deeply romantic than I usually write for him.**


	18. Chapter 18

Bellatrix paced along Derby Gate, just off Whitehall. She'd arranged with Augustus Rookwood's plant to get the Weasley house - the "Burrow" - taken off the Floo Network temporarily. Arthur Weasley would have to instead use the designated Ministry Apparition point, a block away from the visitors' telephone booth. He'd be flustered, she knew, rushing to work and running late.

She was right.

She saw him coming from a half block away, his ginger hair and his gangly body making him stick out like a sore thumb. Bellatrix pulled back into the little alley with its wrought iron grate leading up to the gate. She stood flush against the Georgian wall and pulled out her wand. Her heart thrummed in her chest, pattering madly, and she had to steady her breath as a cluster of suit-clad Muggles went walking by.

" _Imperio._ " She raised her wand and aimed it at Arthur Weasley, and he paused where he walked. Bellatrix thought about him crossing the street and coming to her, and he did just that. A woman in a turquoise caped skirt suit three steps behind him watched him go, and Bellatrix hesitated. But then she focused her attention on Weasley, who came straight into the alley, briefcase in hand.

"Bellatrix Black," he said as he approached her. "Or is it Lestrange these days?"

"It's more than that now," Bellatrix said. She used her power over Weasley to bring him further down the alley, and he stood still and quiet as she raised her wand again.

" _Ava -"_

"Arthur?"

Bellatrix whirled around to find herself face-to-face with the wand of the turquoise-dressed woman. She had greying hair of strawberry blonde, and upon her head was perched a delicate sort of pointed hat. How did Bellatrix not recognise at once that this was a witch who had been walking so closely behind Arthur Weasley?

" _Expelliarmus!_ "

The witch snatched Bellatrix's wand from the air and kept it in her left hand as she said,

"Bellatrix Black Lestrange…"

 _HELP! Master, please, if ever you were going to aid me, come to me now! Please, please help. Help, help, HELP!_

"You are under arrest with an active warrant from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for the use of Unforgivable Curses including but not limited to the Killing Curse."

 _HELP!_ Bellatrix screamed inside her mind, wandless and useless where she stood with her right thumb pressed to her Dark Mark.

" _Finite Incantatem_ ," the witch said, freeing Arthur Weasley from Bellatrix's Imperius Curse. Then she turned her wand on Bellatrix again, and she opened her mouth to speak.

" _Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra! Repello Muggletum. Protego._ "

Bellatrix watched in open-mouthed shock as Lord Voldemort materialised from thin air and immediately began casting spells. In rapid succession, he killed both Arthur Weasley and the witch in turquoise. He shielded up their surroundings, which was certainly something Bellatrix ought to have done the moment she'd Imperiused Arthur Weasley, or even before. She watched, her hands wringing tightly, as Voldemort bent down and pulled Bellatrix's wand from the witch's hand, along with her own. He moved to Arthur Weasley and took his wand, as well. He tucked the other two wands away and silently held Bellatrix's out to her. She took it, fingers shaking, and he silently Vanished the bodies of the other two.

"That witch was Margaret Prewett. Molly's aunt. She went to school with me and became an Auror afterward. She lives, I believe, with Molly and Arthur. If you closed off their house from the Floo Network, she would have had to come to work by Apparition, too."

"Oh." Bellatrix shut her eyes, feeling very nauseated all of a sudden. She put her trembling fingers to her forehead and whispered, "I am so very sorry."

"You were nearly dragged off to Azkaban." Voldemort whirled on her and snarled the words. He narrowed his eyes and added, "The number of charges they hold against you? The things you know? You'd have had to kill yourself with the capture poison first, or you'd have spent the next few weeks in a cell before being administered the Dementor's Kiss."

"I know, Master, and I am -"

"Be silent," he hissed. "What a mess you've made."

He sank his teeth hard into his bottom lip as a soft rain began to fall, and after a moment, Bellatrix shivered where she stood. Voldemort snatched her arm and Disapparated, and she concentrated hard on not Splinching as he took her along with her. When they came to in the foyer of The Master's Manor, Bellatrix fell to her knees and clutched at Voldemort's damp robes. She shook her head miserably and moaned,

"I failed you, Master. I had a simple mission - take out one low-level Ministry employee - and I failed you. I failed you. I am so very sorry, Master."

"It's fine," he said tightly. "I've got their wands. I'll have Rookwood arrange for the wands to be on Eugenia Jenkins' desk tomorrow. They won't know whether Weasley and Prewett are alive or dead, but we can't risk a raid searching for them, so I'll include a letter stating that they've been eliminated. We'll still instill fear. It's just that I nearly lost you in the process, and that is not collateral damage I can accept. You understand?"

"Yes, Master," Bellatrix nodded, burrowing her face into his knees. She almost vomited on the rug, feeling more revulsion with herself than she'd ever done. Her beloved master had been failed by her disgusting lack of care. "Please punish me. I beg it of you. I can not… I am so sorry."

"Stand up, Bellatrix." His voice was a sharp bark then, but when she did not stand, he helped her up with surprisingly gentle movements, and he cupped her face in his hand. He shook his head and chastised her,

"You were careless."

"Unforgivably so," she nodded. "Whip me with spells. Bruise me up. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, worthless little worm that I am."

"I've no time or energy for the agonised self-pity, Bella," Voldemort spat. "You're usually much better than this. You were sloppy. Do better next time. If it hadn't been for our odd little link, I would have had absolutely no idea that you were in trouble. You were Disarmed, and you would have been on your way to Azkaban before I'd known anything had gone wrong. So do better next time, and thank your lucky stars we can feel each other so acutely."

Bellatrix moaned and shook her head, clutching at her face and feeling guilt eat her from the inside out.

"I want to die," she mumbled quickly. "I need to be executed. I should die for this. I don't deserve -"

"Bella. _Bellatrix._ " Voldemort shook her shoulders almost violently and said, "It's fine, all right? Jenkins will get the wands and a message. The targets are dead."

"No thanks to me," Bellatrix groaned. She began to heave with sobs, and she whispered, "Please hurt me. Please beat me. Give me a good minute of a Cruciatus Curse. I beg you. I beg you, Master. Master…"

"Bella, if I punish you, will you be able to move on from this?" He sounded resigned, but Bellatrix nodded vigorously. Voldemort huffed a sigh and snatched Bellatrix's wrist. He dragged her out the front door of the mansion and into the lawn. He shoved her down onto the cold, hard ground and pulled her winter cloak off of her, leaving her shivering where she knelt. Voldemort barked down at her, "You will stay in this spot without moving until I command you otherwise. Give me your wand."

She held it up silently, and he plucked it from her fingers. She watched him turn and go back into the house, and Bellatrix slammed her fists against the icy soil as she snarled in frustration. She had failed. She had never failed to this degree, just little muck-ups here and there. This was failure. She had almost been captured, arrested, convicted, administered the Dementor's Kiss. She had put Voldemort at great risk. She had failed him, and so she had lost a bit of herself.

She knelt upon the rocky black earth and rocked back and forth in the cold, feeling her lips and nose go numb. Her fingers went rigid from the cold as she wrapped her twig-thin arms around herself, but all she could think was that at least she was being punished. At least she was feeling her master's righteous wrath in exchange for what she'd done.

* * *

He couldn't take it.

For three hours, he stared out the window at Bellatrix. Snow flurries began to fall halfway through her punishment. She was bare-armed, her curls whipping around in the winter air. She had begged him to be punished, but this was tearing him apart.

He'd sent the wands off with a letter by owl to Augustus Rookwood explaining that the wands were to be on Eugenia Jenkins with the attached note on the morning of Christmas Eve. The note he'd scrawled to the Minister was simple:

 _Arthur Weasley and Maggie Prewett have faced the fate deserving of all Blood Traitors - execution. Happy Christmas, Minister Jenkins._

Bellatrix hadn't actually ruined the mission, but if she'd not been able to call for Voldemort, things would have gone very differently. She'd be locked up right now, Weasley and Prewett would be alive, and Voldemort would be at the centre of a concerted hunt. If it hadn't been for their bond, their odd and beautiful and terrifying bond, he wouldn't have heard her shrieking for help like she'd done with Cato Burke.

So standing at the window and watching her freeze felt very wrong. This was his wife. This was the witch whose soul he could feel across the distance, the witch whose mind and very being were linked up with his own.

They were sewn together with messy but tight stitches, whip stitches that took her soul and his and bound them up securely. It was reassuring. It had saved them both. It was terrifying, the most frightening thing he'd ever felt, to be threaded up into a seam with another human like this.

Standing and watching her freeze felt very wrong, because he was in love with her, and they'd already discussed what had gone wrong. Finally, Voldemort stormed out onto the front lawn and found Bellatrix shivering, blue lipped and white-faced. She stared up at him, her eyes blazing scarlet, and she whispered,

"I am s-s-so sorry, M-Master."

He wordlessly bent down and scooped her off the ground, cradling her in her arms and feeling the violent way her body was trying to reject the cold. He kicked the door shut behind him and stomped up the wide staircase, taking Bellatrix into their elaborate bathroom. He aimed his wand at the bath and started it to filling, and then he took Bellatrix to the bed and began stripping off her clothes.

"You're hypothermic," he informed her crisply, yanking off her sleeveless tunic and gauntlets and then her skirt and leggings and boots. He wrenched off her bra and knickers and shoved it all away, watching her body shake and her blue lips fade a little. She let her eyes shut, and Voldemort barked, "Bellatrix! Three hours in that cold will lower your body temperature very dangerously, you understand? You put yourself at great risk, demanding to be punished like that."

He scooped her off the bed and took her back into the bathroom. He set her into the tub of hot water, and she hissed with shock at the feeling.

"I d-d-don't deserve to be warm," she whispered, but Voldemort reached for a wash rag and a bar of soap and snapped,

"Stop that. Stop that ridiculous self-pity. You failed on a mission; the failure has been ameliorated. Enough. I have had enough. Warm up and get yourself to lunch."

Without another word, he stood and walked quickly from the bathroom, hearing Bellatrix's miserable sniffling behind him.

 **Author's Note: Whew! A bit heavier than our last few chapters. But waltzing Bellamort can't go on happily forever, can they? Now… someone's got a forty-sixth birthday coming up… ;) Thank you for reading and a HUGE thank you to the readers who have left such incredibly helpful feedback.**


	19. Chapter 19

"Mr Karkaroff. Do sit down." Voldemort gestured across his desk, and the stout wizard with the pointed beard slid into the chair. His robes were heavy black velvet, and he wore a fur-trimmed hat upon his head. When he spoke, his Slavic accent was thick, almost difficult to understand.

"Lord Voldemort. My old friend Augustus has regaled me with tales of your deeds and of your philosophy. My father served Grindelwald bravely; he died for the Dark Arts. I encourage all my students at Durmstrang to learn them. And I wish to serve you, Lord Voldemort, at our school."

"Yes. So Rookwood told me. What would you do for me there, at Durmstrang?" Voldemort asked in a clip. Karkaroff smiled, revealing brown teeth, and he said softly,

"Train them for you. Foot soldiers. Torture experts. Killers. Necromancers. Wherever your need is… I will recruit them to your cause and train them up for you. I will teach of your greatness in my classes. And I will be at your beck and call, ready to serve -"

" _Legilimens._ " Voldemort gave absolutely no warning that he was barging into Karkaroff's head, and the other wizard didn't seem offended by the invasion. He was calm as Voldemort sifted through memories of an angry, violent childhood, a cold and bitter adolescence, a young adult life spent learning how to maim and kill. He searched for Karkaroff's real feelings on Voldemort and sensed admiration, fear, a longing to serve. Voldemort crept back out, trying not to give Karkaroff a headache or nausea. He cleared his throat and said plainly,

"I sense far more potential in you than many of my existing Death Eaters. Ordinarily, I would not make an impulsive move on something like this, but… you're back to Durmstrang in early January after the holidays, yes?"

"Yes, My Lord," Karkaroff nodded. Voldemort stood, and Karkaroff quickly rose. Voldemort pulled out his wand with one elegant movement and said,

"Extend the left arm."

Karkaroff did, smirking with barely concealed glee. He held out his left arm and pulled back his baggy sleeves. Voldemort held the tip of his wand to Karkaroff's skin and said softly,

" _Morsmordre_."

The Dark Mark tattooed itself in angry black ink on Karkaroff's skin, and Voldemort felt his own mark sear and then go cold. His other Death Eaters would feel a flush, an activation, but not a summons. Voldemort sighed with satisfaction and said,

"You belong to me now. Kneel and declare yourself."

Karkaroff immediately dropped to a knee and bowed his head. "Powerful, indomitable Master… I vow to use my role as a Durmstrang instructor to further your goals and your mission, to make my students aware of your divinity, and to acquire new soldiers on your behalf. My every action and word will be in your service."

"Rise," Voldemort ordered, and Karkaroff did. He smiled a little and bowed his head again.

"Master."

"You are dismissed. I will send you instructions beyond your ordinary purview, or you will feel my call through your Mark. Stay loyal and active in my service, or I will eliminate you personally."

"I will not fail you, Master," Karkaroff said, and Voldemort nodded.

"Dismissed."

Hours later, he was back at The Master's Manor, and the place seemed utterly deserted. Voldemort knew it wasn't. He walked through the corridor downstairs and called,

"Coopy!"

The House-Elf he'd taken after Rodolphus' death appeared out of midair and bowed so low he almost toppled.

"Master…"

"Get dinner on the table," Voldemort commanded. "Lamb stew and crusty bread. Good red wine, lots of it."

The House-Elf disappeared with a snap, and Voldemort called upstairs,

"Bella?"

There was no answer, but after a long moment, her silhouette appeared in the doorway of the darkened sunroom.

"Dinner, Bella," Voldemort said, frowning as she stepped up toward the staircase. Her hand shook visibly as she wound her way down the spiral stairs, and when she reached the bottom, her face was utterly blank.

She'd been like this for a week, ever since the failed mission with Arthur Weasley. She'd barely eaten anything, and she'd sobbed herself to sleep at night until Voldemort had commanded her to take some Draught of Peace just to shut her up. Now it was the thirtieth of December, and she looked sallow and worn. She walked quietly past Voldemort, down the corridor and into the dining room, and she stood behind her chair.

"Stew smells good," Voldemort said, for Coopy was a good and expedient cook, even by House-Elf standards. Voldemort sat, and Bellatrix followed him in doing so. She folded her hands on the table and bowed her head, looking almost like a Muggle in prayer. Voldemort dragged his teeth roughly over his lip, dipped his bread into his stew, chewed a bite, swigged some wine, and said,

"I made Igor Karkaroff a Death Eater today. He'll be serving me from Durmstrang."

"That's very good news, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded, her eyes still cast down. Voldemort cleared his throat a little and asked frankly,

"Why have you been wearing your hair braided back every day? You know I like it long."

"I thought that perhaps I ought not be attractive in any way to you now that I have failed you," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort scowled deeply across the table at her.

"What an absolutely ridiculous thought process," he snapped. "I will decide how you wear your hair, because I am not just your husband; I am your master. I like it down. Take the braid out."

She did, instantly and without hesitation. She shook out her curls and sniffled a little, and Voldemort rolled his eyes, trying not to lose his temper. She'd done nothing but cry and mope for a week. Christmas had been absolutely miserable. He'd gifted her new black diamond earrings, and she'd just sobbed that she wasn't worthy of receiving anything from him. She'd spent the day begging his forgiveness, and she'd wound up ruining the festive nature of everything.

"Did you take your Famishing Draught?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix shook her head a little. She picked up her spoon and dipped it into the stew, bringing it to her trembling lips as she forced herself to sip a little.

"Enough!" Voldemort slammed his fist on the table, sending stew splattering from their bowls onto the tablecloth. Bellatrix stared at him, alarmed and more awake than she'd been for days. Voldemort chugged down the rest of his glass of wine and slammed it onto the table, snatching his bread and rising.

"Eat or starve, Bellatrix. I don't care anymore," he snarled at Bellatrix, leaving her standing with a napkin clutched in her hand. He went down the corridor into the small downstairs library and slammed the door shut, hurling the bread at the wall and growling with rage.

* * *

11:57 pm.

There were three more minutes until he was forty-six years old. Forty-six years to her twenty-one. Voldemort stood next to the bed, watching her sleep, and he tried to remember what it had been like to be twenty-one.

He was working at Borgin and Burke's then. He could vividly remember what it was like to have shocked everyone by turning down Ministry positions and instead earn his keep by seducing the wealthy into parting with their valuable artefacts. He remembered the little garret room he rented first, then the larger flat he was able to get when he started earning more money. He recalled young witches flirting with him, for he'd been very handsome then. He remembered Myrandae coming into the shop a few years after their dalliance at Hogwarts. She'd been pink-cheeked and nervous. Others had been more brazen. But Tom Riddle had never felt anything toward those witches even vaguely resembling what Lord Voldemort felt for Bellatrix.

11:58 pm.

She'd destroyed herself by failing in a mission. In nearly getting captured, she'd personally failed Voldemort, she thought. He'd forgiven her moments after the incident, and Jenkins had had the wands on her desk the next morning. There had been a panicked _Daily Prophet_ article on the twenty-sixth, an appropriately anxious atmosphere sweeping over the year's end. As it happened, Bellatrix had managed, through her grave error, to create an even more ominous situation than Voldemort had originally planned. On the twenty-seventh, he'd received signed vows of loyalty from Fenrir Greyback and a few other werewolves. His movement had seem a bump from the incident that Bellatrix saw as her greatest undoing.

11:59 pm.

And that was why Lord Voldemort was raising his wand to Bellatrix now. He couldn't let her go on like this anymore. He couldn't let her ferocity dissolve like smoke in the air. He couldn't let her viciousness give way to weakness, to this stagnant and listless mental inertia. The witch in the bed right now, the witch sleeping in a restless foetal position, was not the witch who had captured him. She had quickly devolved into something weaker, someone broken by her inability to do what her master had ordered.

12:00 am.

He was forty-six now, and she was twenty-one. He'd lived so long without her, and now she was everything, and so his wand was aimed at her wild dark curls as he murmured,

" _Obliviate._ "

He pulled out the memory as though he were drinking through a straw. He could see it from her point of view - the way she'd been on the verge of executing Arthur Weasley, the way Maggie Prewett had appeared, the way she'd been Disarmed and had screamed out into the void for Voldemort. He could feel her abject horror, the way the guilt had eaten her alive. He could feel the pulsing deterioration as her mind went to mush over it all.

And then he replaced the memories, carefully building something new. She had quickly taken out both Arthur Weasley and Maggie Prewett, whom she'd recognised as an Auror at once. She'd Vanished their bodies and presented the wands as trophies to Voldemort, who had kissed her and fucked her until she cried out for mercy as they celebrated. Their Christmas had been more than merry. She'd squealed with delight opening her black diamond earrings. She'd struggled to eat these last few days, but she was happy. They were happy.

Voldemort pulled away, letting his wand fall and retreating from her mind. He gulped hard and flicked his eyes to the clock, and then he said softly,

"Bellatrix."

"Mmph…" She squirmed a little where she lay, and her hand went to the empty spot beside her. She pushed herself up a little and whispered into the inky darkness, "My Lord?"

"Do you know what time it is?" he asked her, and she choked out a little laugh as she admitted hoarsely,

"N-No. What time is it?"

"It's 12:04," he said, and Bellatrix immediately shoved her curls back and said in a low, warm voice,

"Happy birthday, Master. Will you come here?"

He slithered beneath the sheets, setting his wand down on the bedside table. He lay facing her and told her,

"Don't worry; I mean to take you more than once on my forty-sixth birthday, Bella. But, for once, I didn't wake you for sex."

"No?" She kissed the small of his neck, the divot just above his collarbone, and her fingers curled around his neck, sliding up to hold his face. "What did you wake me for, My Lord?"

He gulped and told the truth, for he already had the answer to the question he'd been about to ask. Still, he asked it, just to hear her say what he so desperately needed to know. But he asked it in his mind, knowing she could feel him.

 _Bellatrix, are you happy?_

"Happier than any witch in history, Master," she said quietly. "Happy birthday."

 **Author's Note: So, this Voldemort won't abide the shrinking, sniveling master/slave relationship we see with Bellatrix in the Harry Potter years. Was it** _ **smart**_ **for him to Obliviate her? Only time will tell. If you get a moment, please do leave a review. I can't tell you how much I value your feedback. Thank you.**


	20. Chapter 20

Bellatrix stepped into the threshold of the bathroom and watched as her master dragged a razor over his cheek. She felt a little spike go through her at the sight of him like that, shirtless with a towel round his waist, shaving by hand.

" _Happy birthday to you,_ " she began to sing, and he smirked as he rinsed his razor in the sink. Bellatrix took another step closer to him and sang, " _Happy birthday to you._ "

She snaked her arms around his waist from behind and slid her hands up his chest, tipping her forehead against his back as she quietly sang,

" _Happy birthday, dear Master. Happy birthday to you._ "

"Mmm." She curled her face around him and watched him finish shaving, touching a hot washcloth around his face before he turned to face her. He raised his eyebrows and said, "Forty-six. Your husband is a certifiable old man."

She grinned and shook her head. "My husband is the most handsome and powerful wizard in all of Britain, and he'll live forever. So what do I care about his age?"

"Good girl," Voldemort whispered. He gave her a slightly odd look then, and he said rather gravely, "It feels good to… to feel you happy again."

"Have I been so dour as that?" Bellatrix thought over their joyful Christmas, the way his movement had gained momentum since the deaths of Arthur Weasley and Maggie Prewett. Voldemort shook his head and said quickly,

"I only mean… it makes my birthday happier, you know. To feel your happiness."

"Oh." Bellatrix nodded and touched her hands to his chest. Then she said rather carefully, nervousness coming over her, "Your gift is waiting in the upstairs library. I… I hope I haven't mucked up. I had it made a month ago, and the number of times I've nearly tossed it into a fire…"

Voldemort gave her a crooked smile and whispered, " _Legilimens._ "

"No!" Bellatrix slapped at his chest and threw up her Occlumency shields as she giggled, "You have to wait to see it!"

Suddenly she realised she'd struck him, and even though it had been done in jest, the idea of having hit him sent fear straight to her core. But Voldemort brought her knuckles to his lips and said simply,

"Show me, then, you little minx."

"Oh, you've no idea." Bellatrix took his hand and led him out of the bathroom, through the bedroom and out into the corridor. She'd dressed today in a short leather skirt and thigh-high stockings with a simple black jumper. She'd change into something more festive for the New Year's party they were meant to attend at Malfoy Manor later that night.

"Do they know?" she asked suddenly. "Abraxas and the others, the ones who went to school with you. Do they know it's your birthday?"g]

"Of course," he said as she led him into the library, "but the Dark Lord's birthday is far too personal an occasion for any public celebration. Besides, it's hardly as though I was raised having childhood birthday parties. All it is, now that I'm old, is a day to remind me that I grow older every year."

"Well. All I can hope is that my humble little present brings you some… amusement… for your birthday." Bellatrix licked her lip nervously and gestured to the two armchairs on either side of a metal-and-wood table. Upon the table was a box wrapped in metallic silver paper with black velvet ribbon. Bellatrix sat in one chair, and as Voldemort sank into the other, still shirtless but with cleaned teeth and a fresh shave, he quirked up a brow.

"Whatever have you done, Bella?" he asked, picking up the box.

"Happy birthday," she blurted again, and he seemed confused by her nerves. He untied the black ribbon and set it on the table, and he was careful and methodical in unwrapping the box. He didn't rip or tear the paper; he disassembled the wrapping job. Bellatrix tried not to chuckle at that, instead Vanishing the paper for him once he'd folded it and set it on the table. Her heart raced as he opened the thick cardboard box and pulled out the leather-bound album inside. He set the box on the table, and Bellatrix Vanished that, too. Then she watched him open the album, and she watched his mouth fall open.

"Bella." His voice was a little hoarse as he looked up from the large photograph before him. "Who took this?"

"Malika Shacklebolt's quite good with a camera," Bellatrix said, anxiously knitting her hands in her lap, "and quite good at directing poses, too. I… I hope it isn't… silly."

"Silly?" He sounded utterly shocked as he turned the page and shook his head. "Bloody hell. No, it's not silly."

Bellatrix felt relief wash over her. She had asked Malika Shacklebolt to take a series of photographs intended for the Dark Lord's eyes only - scantily-clad or nude photos in provocative poses, the photographs twinged with just enough movement to be genuinely erotic. The first photograph was of Bellatrix straddling a wooden chair, her fishnet stockings and spiked heels the only things she wore as she shoved her curls away from her face. The second photograph was Bellatrix lying on her back, arching up and making eye contact with the camera. The third was Bellatrix lying a bit over the arm of a sofa, dragging her thumb over her lip and slowly moving her leg, her rump pushed into the air.

"Bellatrix." Voldemort slowly turned the page of the album, and he cleared his throat roughly. When he raised his eyes to her, they were searing scarlet red, and she smiled shyly.

"You like them?" she whispered, and he just nodded silently. He blinked, looking almost dazed as he studied the fourth photograph. Bellatrix was wearing one of his tunic shirts, as she loved to do, but she had it unbuttoned far down her chest and wore only black lace knickers with it. In the photograph, she was kneeling on the ground. She tossed her wild curls back and gave the camera a seductive look, and the motion repeated itself smoothly. Voldemort let out a choked little noise and murmured,

"Bella, take your clothes off. Now."

Bellatrix couldn't help but grin then. She stripped off her jumper and bra and tossed them aside as he turned the page to the fifth photograph. In this one, Bellatrix was completely naked, leaning forward toward a mirror and putting on lipstick. Voldemort raked his shaking fingers through his greying hair, and as Bellatrix shoved her skirt and knickers down, she said,

"I thought… you know, I won't be young forever. I thought you might like…"

"I do like them. Thank you." He sounded completely unhinged then as he turned the page again. Bellatrix studied his reaction to this photograph, which showed Bellatrix on her back, the sunlight hitting her just so as she dragged her lips over her Dark Mark. She pushed her stockings down and mumbled,

"That's the last one."

Voldemort went back to the start of the album and looked through it twice more, his eyes lingering every now and then. Finally he shut the album and said softly,

"I am dizzy from how badly I… I… please just come here."

She took the album and set it on the table, and by the time she'd turned round, he had yanked down his trousers and was dragging out his cock. It was almost unfathomably huge today, even larger than usually because of how very hard he'd become. Bellatrix wasn't entirely confident she'd be able to mount it. No wonder he was dizzy, she thought, what with all the blood he'd need to make it that thick and firm. She straddled his thighs on the armchair and pulled herself up snugly against him. She gasped a little as she cycled her hips up and forward - this felt _good_.

" _Lubrico_ ," she heard him murmur, and she realised he knew she intended on grinding instead of penetration. He knew how big he was, that sometimes he was too big. Maybe later today she'd wind up pounded into the sheets, but for now he was overwhelmed by her gift, and that made her happy.

Bellatrix started to pump her two hands on him, cycling them around his lubricated shaft and up over his tip. She let her head fall back as she pushed her clit against him. This felt _good,_ so very good, and she moaned softly. His hands started on her thighs and very slowly worked their way up as she caressed him and ground against the base of his shaft. She was soaking wet with want, and it was getting all over the hair beneath his trousers. She realised then that she never felt his pelvis; he could never get all the way inside of her. So she ground down and felt him there, the place where his cock met his body, and the sensation on her clit was overwhelming. One of his hands went to a breast and squeezed a little, and his other hand mirrored the action with a cheek of her backside. Every time she pumped her hips against him, he squeezed. That felt good, too, to have her arse tense beneath his clenching fingers. It felt good to have her small, round breast compressed beneath his palm. And it felt good to keep rubbing her clit on him.

Suddenly she felt herself pushed over an edge, and she stopped moving as she gasped and whispered,

"I'm going to come."

 _Kiss me through it_ , she felt him think, and she collapsed forward a little, falling into the arms that wrapped around her. She gave her hips one last shove and then came, moaning onto his lips, both of them too distracted to tangle tongues. Bellatrix wrapped her hands around his cock as her climax washed over her, and he grunted at the way her fingers flew around his slick tip. She pulled back and let their breath mingle, and then suddenly he was shoving himself up into her hands and driving his head back against the chair.

"You… are so beautiful…" He huffed out a breath and then groaned, low and long, and Bellatrix looked down to watch in fascination as his come spurted up in creamy jets. It got all over her hands, all over his pyjama trousers. Some landed on his belly and some on hers. It was everywhere, a great big mess that smelled of sex, and Bellatrix couldn't move for a long moment. Voldemort's throat bobbed a few times, and finally he said up to the ceiling in a hoarse voice,

"I'll have to… be extremely careful about where and when I look at those pictures, Bellatrix."

"So you like them, Master?" Bellatrix studied his face as he tipped it down and eyed her with a smirk.

"Yes, you beautiful, wretchedly youthful nymph, you. I like the damned pictures. Thank you."

"Happy birthday," she smiled, and he just nodded as he reached for his wand to clean them up.

 **Author's Note: Mwah hahaha. Bellatrix doing a boudoir shoot for Voldemort. Who'd have thunk? But if you've spent any demonstrable time reading my Bellamort fanfiction, you know that happiness can't last forever. Anyone hear that thunder on the horizon? As always, reviews are treasured like gold, especially since my AO3 account has been suspended for reasons I can't parse out and I'm limited to FF. Thanks for reading here if you've migrated, btw!**


	21. Chapter 21

"My goodness, My Lady. You look magnificent."

"Thanks, Malika." Bellatrix pulled her full skirts out a little, showing off the elaborate lace and tulle overlaying the black silk beneath. Voldemort swallowed the knot in his throat as he studied her from a few steps away. Cygnus Black was blathering on about finances, but Voldemort couldn't stop looking at the man's daughter. Her collarbone looked pretty tonight, he thought, with the scalloped off-the-shoulder neck of his gown. Her waist had been cinched in by the corset-style bodice, and she was almost painfully feminine in shape tonight.

"Does that sound suitable, My Lord?"

"Hmm?" Voldemort took a huge swig of his gin and tonic and forced his face to his father-in-law. Cygnus' eyes flicked to Bellatrix, and he cleared his throat as he asked carefully,

"A stipend for the werewolves, Master, since so many live in abject poverty. They seemed wildly enthused by even the tiniest monetary reward. I suggested perhaps two hundred Galleons per year to each of them in exchange for their loyalty."

"Yes. That seems... reasonable." Voldemort finished off his gin and tonic, and it refilled itself. He glanced around the little gathering in the ballroom of Malfoy Manor, and he found the large clock on the wall. It was eleven-thirty, but this party had already been going for two hours, and Voldemort had been drinking the entire time. It was the only way he could even vaguely manage to keep his hands off of Bellatrix. His mind was on the dirty pictures she'd given him, and it didn't help that she was cheerful now, having been Obliviated out of the misery that had consumed her since before Christmas.

"A hundred… no, wait. Two hundred Galleons each for the werewolves is fine, Cygnus," Voldemort nodded with a little snap. He gave Cygnus what he thought was a serious look then and asked, "How are things with my dear mother-in-law?"

He took another big drink, feeling woozy now, and he watched Cygnus' face go a little pink.

"Erm… better now, Master. I… I will be loyal to her in future. On that you have my word, my honour."

"Good. Poor Bella was a wreck over it," Voldemort slurred. "Well, no. She was… she was really very angry with you. She thought that meal… on Druella's birthday… she laughed so hard about it after. Anyway."

He frowned then, for it seemed uncharacteristic that he would talk about Bellatrix like this. Cygnus seemed uncomfortable, shifting on his feet, and he stared down at his own Champagne flute.

"I am sorry to have distressed her, Master. Her and Druella both."

"She's so fucking pretty, isn't she?" Voldemort turned his face back to Bellatrix, and as he sipped his gin and tonic, he mused, "That dress is going to be a beast to take off. I'll have to just Vanish it, probably. The fastest way to fuck Bella is to just Vanish everything straight off of her."

"My Lord!" Cygnus' voice shook like mad, and Voldemort's vision blurred as he turned quickly to face him. Cygnus scowled, his cheeks beet red, and he murmured, "Please, Master, will you excuse me?"

"Mmm-hmm. Happy New Year." Voldemort took three large gulps in a row, wondering why it was that these gin and tonics seemed to be going down so easily. Malfoy's House-Elf had enchanted all the drinks to automatically refill, so everyone was overindulging, but Voldemort was slurping down gin like it was water in a desert. He didn't know exactly why. He didn't make a point of drinking to excess in front of his followers. It made him look weak and mortal and stupid.

But he took a sip of the fresh drink, and he stumbled just a little where he stood. Suddenly Bellatrix looked over from where she and her sister were chatting with Nadia Goyle and Malika Shacklebolt, who was probably the only one here not drinking, owing to her swollen pregnant belly. Voldemort staggered over toward the gaggle of witches, all of whom dipped into curtsies except for Bellatrix. She just glared, and in his mind, Voldemort thought distantly,

 _Oh, what's got her angry now?_

 _You are completely drunk, My Lord_ , she thought right back at him. He blinked, drowsy all of a sudden, and said,

"Narcissa. Hello. Your dress looks like a snowflake."

"That's because it's got silver snowflakes embroidered on it," Bellatrix hissed, and the other witches lowered their eyes.

"Yes. I meant… meant to say that it _has_ snowflakes… on it." Voldemort sipped at his drink, which was plucked from his fingers by Bellatrix at once. She gave him a serious look and asked,

"Mind if I finish this one off, Master?"

"I could get you your own." He didn't understand why she was stealing his drinks from him. He turned to Malika Shacklebolt and snatched at her left hand, studying the plain gold wedding band there.

"Well, looks like Rabastan rather cheaped out on the ring, but... at least he made it all official… all official before you squeeze out his progeny," Voldemort slurred. Narcissa and Nadia Goyle gasped in alarm, and Malika Shacklebolt slowly pulled her hand back, giving Bellatrix what seemed like a desperate look.

"Master, dance with me," Bellatrix said very firmly. "Please."

"No one's dancing." He gestured out into the ballroom, and Bellatrix said helplessly,

"Show me where the cream puffs are, then."

"They're over there." Voldemort pointed to a table full of desserts. Had she suddenly lost all of her intelligence and ability to find cream puffs? He grabbed his drink back from her and sipped, and Bellatrix said impulsively,

"My Lord, I overheard a conversation, extremely sensitive, and I think I should share it with you in private. May we go to your office, please?"

"Just think it," Voldemort said in a blur. "You know if you're deliberate… if you think it right at me, I'll hear it just fine."  
The others seemed very confused by that, and Bellatrix shut her eyes for a long moment. Finally, Narcissa Black said softly,

"Malika, I'll bet you didn't know there were cream puffs. You must be craving them like mad in your condition. Let's go get you some. Nadia, come with us?"

"Excuse us, Master." Malika Shacklebolt curtsied again, along with Narcissa and Nadia, and Voldemort watched the witches go. They were probably still well in earshot when he said rather loudly to Bellatrix,

"I wouldn't shag any of those girls, but _you_ , in that dress… for fuck's sake, Bellatrix; are you trying to -"

"You are very drunk." She grabbed his drink and whipped out her wand, Vanishing the glass. He opened his mouth to protest, but her face was red with anger as she whispered frantically, "You are making a complete and utter fool of yourself, and you are going to regret it tomorrow."

"Is that a threat?" Voldemort spat, and Bellatrix's eyes welled as she shook her head fiercely.

"Why did you drink so much, My Lord? You never do this. You know so much better."

"The gin was especially… you look _very_ pretty, Bella, and I was distracted by you," he said accusingly. Bellatrix shook her head a little and said in a gentle voice,

"Please, come with me to our suite here. There are potions stores. We can quickly sober you up before everyone leaves. Please, Master. Please let me help you."

" _You_ help _me_?" Voldemort scoffed a laugh and noted bitterly, "You've been so useless this last week that I had to Obliviate your ruddy mind just to get you functional again, and now… now _you're_ the one helping me? That's awfully rich!"

"Wait… what? What are you talking about?" Bellatrix looked around quickly and closed the gap between them. She blinked a few times and whispered, "You Obliviated me? Why?"

"You're a bloody Legilimens, aren't you? Come on in, then," Voldemort challenged her. Bellatrix licked her bottom lip and murmured,

" _Legilimens._ "

She sorted through the way Voldemort had pulled out a failed mission - the botched assassination of Arthur Weasley - and the way Bellatrix had sat for hours in the cold. He'd pulled out her long sessions of inconsolable crying, the way she'd threatened to leap into an icy river, the way she'd moaned about being worthless. She could see Voldemort replacing her memories whilst she slept, convincing her that she'd done the job right and that Christmas had been happy. Suddenly she yanked herself from Voldemort's mind, and she mumbled,

"I don't feel well. I'm going home… Master."

She started to walk away, but Voldemort reached for her arm. He must have squeezed her tiny bicep much harder than he'd intended, because she yelped in pain, and a few people turned to stare.

"Stop, _stop!_ " she whispered, yanking her arm from his hand and rubbing at it. Her eyes flashed scarlet and stayed that way as she said in a desperate, cracked voice, "People are watching you! They'll remember this; you'll be weaker for this. Please let me go up to the suite. Please. I'll bring down the potion to help you. Please let me go to the suite. I am begging you. Master, please."

"Fine! Bloody hell!" Voldemort snarled in rage down at her, and more people turned to stare in awe or shock or something else that Voldemort was entirely too drunk to identify. Bellatrix whirled on her foot, red-cheeked and panting with panic, and started to walk quickly from the ballroom. He struggled to keep up with her as she hurried off, her silk and tulle skirts rustling around her. Then he realised he wasn't meant to follow her, and he froze. Bellatrix stormed out of the ballroom, looking so beautiful it hurt, her black curls shaking with every frantic step she took.

"Pardon me… My Lord?"

He turned, feeling very dizzy as he found himself face to face with Abraxas Malfoy.

"We went to school together, you and I," Voldemort reminded Abraxas in a blurry voice. He jabbed his finger into Abraxas' chest and mumbled, "You played Quidditch. Seeker."

"I was… I was a Beater, Master." Abraxas started walking slowly toward the wall, and Voldemort stumbled over with him. He blinked slowly and said,

"You could have had any girl in the damned school, Abraxas, being a Quidditch… a Quidditch star, but you… you had eyes only for Cerda. Too bad you went to those damned parties and betrayed her."

"I do feel terribly about that great mess, My Lord," Abraxas sipped very slowly, very deliberately from his flute of Champagne, and he asked in a voice that showed he was walking on eggshells, "Is there… any assistance I might provide you, Master? I fear perhaps my House-Elf made the gin flow a bit more freely than you might have liked."

"Bella's gone to fetch it. The Apestemius Elixir." Voldemort jammed his hands into his pockets and swayed a little where he stood. "Am I as drunk as all that, Abraxas?"

Malfoy hesitated and finally admitted, "Far more so than I've ever seen you, My Lord, yes."

"Oh." Voldemort tried to nod crisply, but he felt like a bobblehead as he said, "Yes, all right. Dismissed, Malfoy."

"Master." Abraxas bowed a little and walked away, into a cluster consisting of Cygnus and Druella Black, Lucius and Narcissa, and Cerda Malfoy. Voldemort scowled at the lot of them. They were bad-mouthing him, he thought. He could just aim his wand at them and jinx them one by one for bad-mouthing him when he couldn't hear. He could peer into their heads and punish them for insubordination.

Instead he peered into the minds of a few of the others present, his Legilimency clumsy and making people jolt with the sensation of mental discomfort. Still, he could feel it from them - shock, alarm, amusement. _The Dark Lord's completely smashed. Utterly piss drunk, he is. Merlin's Beard; the Dark Lord is sloshed as a sailor. Happy New Year, eh?_

He wanted to shout at them all that it was his damned birthday, too, not just New Year's. He wanted to tell them that even Dark wizards liked to let loose every now and then. And he wanted to say that sometimes he needed gin to keep his hands off of the witch to whom his soul had knitted itself. But he didn't shout at any of them. Instead he went on stuttering feet to a table with a pitcher of water and some empty glasses. He poured himself some water, spilling a little, and he was about to take a sip when he heard,

"Here. Please take this first; you know it's bitter and you'll want the water after."

Voldemort turned slowly to see Bellatrix surreptitiously holding her palm between them. There was a little vial of indigo glass in her hand, and when Voldemort hesitated, she plucked out the little cork and poured the vial into his glass of water.

"There," she murmured, tucking the empty vial away. "That's a large dose. Should work quickly."

She stayed close to him as he gulped down the bitter mixture of water and Apestemius Elixir. He winced at the flavour but drank the whole glass, and the effect was almost immediate. Within ten or fifteen blinks of his eyes, everything started to get clearer. The dizzying buzz of the room came into focus, and Voldemort touched at his forehead as he mumbled,

"What a bloody fool I was, drinking like that. Talking like that. Bella, how do I fix this?"

"They're all drunk, too," she pointed out softly. "You hold a meeting tomorrow at eight in the morning, when they're all still tipsy or hungover, and you be extra stern with them. Punish someone for something. Goad someone into talking back at throw a Cruciatus for ten seconds. Reassert your authority."

She was right, of course. He nodded and flicked his eyes to the oily sheen on her bicep, and he knew she'd put some Butterfly Weed Balm on the spot where he'd grabbed her. Then he realised he'd let slip to her that he'd Obliviated her, and he said,

"You couldn't see that your mistake wasn't worth the… the absolute breakdown. I couldn't let you go on like that."

"It seems I was acting foolishly in the wake of a mission gone wrong. You were right to Obliviate me, Master," Bellatrix nodded, "and tomorrow you'll show them all again why they should be utterly terrified of you."

"Thirty seconds to midnight!" shouted Abraxas Malfoy from across the room, and the big clock he'd hung on the wall started ticking off the seconds with an increasingly loud chime.

"Bella." Voldemort took her face in his hands, knowing they were far enough removed from the crowd for him to speak plainly. He studied her eyes and said, "You saved me tonight. I was wretched to your father… to you. It's bad enough, what I did, but you saved me from a complete disaster."

"Fifteen seconds!" shouted Malfoy.

Bellatrix held onto Voldemort's wrists with her little hands and said in a cracked voice,

"Your birthday's almost over. Happy birthday, Master."

"Bella…" He bent and touched his forehead to hers, suddenly not caring that people might see. He'd already made himself into a complete jester tonight, a drunken bleeding idiot.

"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!"

"I love you," he whispered, his lips brushing against Bellatrix's as he felt their golden web, that intangible link, wind up and yank them together from the inside out. "Bellatrix, I love you."

"Six! Five! Four!"

"And I love you, Master," she replied, "and I will always serve you. Always."

"Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!"

Little fireworks burst at the ceiling of the room, and confetti and streamers materialised from the ether and began falling all around. People were kissing everywhere, and so nobody probably paid much mind to the way Lord Voldemort swept Bellatrix into his arms and crushed his mouth hard against hers, thrusting his tongue in and sucking on her bottom lip. When he pulled back, there was celebratory music playing. People were singing; there was silver glitter all over the place. But all Voldemort saw was the face of the witch he'd stolen, the witch he'd made his own, and he said as firmly as he could,

"You are everything, Bella."

She nodded and snared her fingers through his with both hands. "Happy New Year, My Lord."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Ah, Lord Voldemort. Terribly intelligent, but not the wisest wizard to ever live, eh? Good judgment has never been his strongest suit. If only he could have kept that gin under control. Bellatrix may be right that everyone else was drunk, too, but will Voldemort be able to completely reassert control, or will a few minds be permanently influenced by his behavior at the party?**

 **Thank you for reading and please know that each review brings a huuuuge smile to my face. :)**


	22. Chapter 22

Bellatrix's eyes snapped open, and she gasped in pain at the searing sensation on her left wrist. She sat up quickly in bed to see that her Dark Mark had flushed black. There was a note on the bed beside her, and it read,

 _Meeting at Malfoy Manor. Wakey, wakey._

Bellatrix smirked and glanced at the clock. Half past six. Oh, this was just cruel, she thought as she she leapt from the bed and hurried over to the wardrobe. She yanked on leggings and boots and a knee-length dress that she belted with shaking hands. Everyone would still be tipsy or hungover from the party. Everyone would be doing this - scrambling to clean their teeth and dress before rushing back to the Manor.

No doubt her master had taken Invigoration Draught and Girding Potion to make himself appear stable, steady, and well-rested, she thought. He'd look supremely collected whilst the rest of them would be an abominable mess, and that was precisely what needed to happen after his drunken behaviour the night before.

It took everything Bellatrix had not to laugh when she came down the corridor from the Dark Lord's office at the Manor, where she'd appeared using the Floo connection with their own house. Everyone was staggering up from the foyer, looking haggard, yawning, reeking of booze and sweat and sleep. Bellatrix had managed to throw a perfume charm on herself and to clean her teeth and Scour her face before leaving Voldemort's office, so she reckoned she was better put together than most of the others. Still, none of them were anything compared to him.

Voldemort sat at the head of the table in neat robes of black waffle-weave material. His slightly greying hair had been side parted and carefully combed. He smelled of black pepper and cedarwood as Bellatrix passed him, and his face was stoic. When she sat at the place nearest him, she couldn't help flashing him a little smirk, and he said softly,

"Good morning."

"Morning, Master," she said back. After everyone had taken their seats, Voldemort sighed and said,

"Well, you all look like hell. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year, Master," everyone mumbled. Mulciber blinked slowly, obviously still more than tipsy. Voldemort cleared his throat and said crisply,

"Just a few orders of business and I'll send you all on your way to rest off the party. First of all… Malfoy. Thank you and Cerda for the splendid party last night. We're all grateful, as per usual, for your hospitality. And speaking of parties in this Manor, I trust that you and Mulciber will coordinate to ensure that your children's weddings are spaced out properly in the summer."

"We've discussed the matter with the Malfoy and Black families, Master," Mulciber said cautiously, "and, of course, gave them first choice of date. Lucius and Narcissa will be married on the sixteenth of June, Master, and my own son on the seventh of July."

"Very good." Voldemort drummed his fingers on the table. "Moving right alone... I'm sure you've all had the chance to meet him by now, but Igor Karkaroff has joined our ranks and will be serving me from Durmstrang."

Karkaroff looked almost as unaffected as Voldemort, and he gave Bellatrix a very deep and respectful nod before saying to Voldemort,

"Master. I look forward to the resumption of term so I can begin instructing students into your service."

"Thank you, Karkaroff. Safe journey back to the Continent," Voldemort nodded. "Cygnus."

Bellatrix looked down the table her father, who seemed profoundly embarrassed when he met her eyes. He turned back to the Dark Lord and bowed his head, and Voldemort asked,

"How is progress in acquiring the support of the Goblins?"

Cygnus Black hesitated and finally admitted, "They are extremely apathetic, My Lord. They do not appear to sense any urgency in choosing a side. They think they can stay neutral."

"Whilst benefiting financially from me. No, I don't think so," Voldemort said sardonically. "If it's urgency they require, let's light a fire under the little creatures, eh? Yaxley, put together a dossier for me on a Goblin family. Someone they'll miss."

"Yes, Master," Yaxley nodded, his eyes deeply bagged from the night before. Voldemort turned to Bellatrix and commanded her,

"Choose a few for a mission squad. I want them dead but not Vanished, with the Dark Mark overhead. Then we'll circulate a memo around Gringotts making it quite clear that neutrality is not an option, and that we can always take our financial interests to the Continent."

Silence fell as Voldemort took a moment to roll his neck and stretch his long fingers. He was terribly handsome just now, Bellatrix thought. He flicked his eyes to her, looked her up and down, and she watched his throat bob. Then he said sharply to the group,

"Dismissed. Go get some rest and water; you all look like Inferi."

A few people chuckled darkly at the jape, and everyone rose and bowed before leaving the room. Bellatrix stayed where she was, nodding a farewell at her father, who was the last one out of the room. When the door shut, she said to Voldemort,

"Well. That probably couldn't have gone any better."

"Do you suppose I've regained whatever I jeopardised last night?" he asked seriously, studying a fingernail, and Bellatrix nodded.

"Yes, My Lord. I think you're just fine."

"Well, it isn't the first New Year's party where I made a complete fool of myself. There was the one five years ago… I'm sure you remember what a blithering idiot I was."

Bellatrix frowned and shook her head. Five years ago? She remembered speaking to him at the Malfoy Christmas party when she was sixteen, but New Year's? She didn't recall, exactly.

"I remember it very well indeed," Voldemort said tightly, shifting a little in his seat. "You were already in love with Rodolphus, so I'm sure your mind didn't store it the way mine did. It… doesn't matter."

"Will you show me?" Bellatrix asked, and he hesitated before nodding once. Bellatrix aimed her wand at him and murmured, " _Legilimens._ "

She was met immediately with a scene that played out before her like a Muggle film, like a memory in a Pensieve, clear and crystalline, sharp and vivid.

 _Voldemort picked up a flute of Champagne, watching as Bellatrix Black approached the dessert table. She eyed a few things but didn't pick any of them up. She looked far more conservative tonight than she'd done at the Christmas party. She'd probably been scolded by her parents for wearing that low-cut gown, and small wonder. She'd made a scandal of herself. Tonight she had on a high-necked dress of long-sleeved black silk, a simple silver pendant hanging from her neck. She'd yanked back her hair into a tight chignon, which was a shame; she had pretty curls._

 _Pretty. He mustn't think of her like that, he thought quickly. She was much too young to be thought of in that way._

' _See anything appetising?' he found himself asking, and she seemed surprised that he'd spoken to her when she turned. She curtsied quickly and stepped up to him as she said,_

' _Nothing worth getting fat over, My Lord.'_

 _He laughed a little and sipped from the Champagne, his third - fourth? - glass. He was mildly dizzy as he said,_

' _Your father says you're doing well in school.'_

' _Well, I'm trying my best not to get expelled,' Bellatrix said with a playful smile, 'and I reckon Dumbledore will have more difficulty tossing me out if I'm one of his best students.'_

 _Voldemort coughed out an amused little sound and asked mockingly, 'So you have perfect marks, do you?'_

 _Her cheeks went a little pink, and she narrowed her eyes as she admitted, 'I'm a middling Potions pupil at best, but in everything else, I'm doing very well, Master.'_

' _Well, you'll do fine on your N.E.W.T.s in the spring, then.' Voldemort raised his glass a little, and Bellatrix's ruby-painted lips fell open as she said in an embarrassed voice,_

' _I, erm… I'm only a sixth-year, My Lord.'_

' _Oh. Yes. I knew that.' Voldemort took another sip of Champagne, though he could more than feel it in his head now. He nodded. 'For some reason, I thought you were older.'_

' _I wish.' Bellatrix rolled her eyes a little, and he shook his head._

' _You've only got a few more years of wishing you were older. Just you wait until it's your forty-first birthday, and you certainly won't be wishing you were any older.'_

' _Is it your birthday, Master?' Bellatrix seemed awed then, and Voldemort gulped. He nodded once._

' _Don't go spreading that round, eh?' He finished off his Champagne and asked, 'Why is it that you call me that? Master. You're not a Death Eater.'_

' _Not yet,' Bellatrix said, and suddenly her dark eyes flashed with something that made Voldemort shiver. He stared at her for a moment and struggled to pull his gaze away. He turned his eyes on his empty Champagne flute and cleared his throat._

' _Is that your aspiration?'_

' _It is, Master,' she said quietly. 'I want very badly to serve you.'_

' _Well, give it another year and I'll reassess,' Voldemort said tightly. He heard her sigh, and she murmured,_

' _I wish I could toast your birthday, My Lord, but… well, ever since I made trouble with the Champagne table as a child, Mr Malfoy has enchanted the alcohol to stay glued to the table if anyone underage tries to pick it up.'_

 _Voldemort laughed at that, and he raised his eyes to Bellatrix, shaking his head._

' _Oh, I'll never forget the sight of you just… charging right up and taking that flute of Champagne. I ought not to have laughed; your parents were not amused.'_

 _Bellatrix eyed the Champagne and said carefully, 'You could pick it up, Master, and hand it to me.'_

 _He scoffed in disbelief. Was she trying to manipulate him, this little flit of a thing with dreams of being his servant? He was not one to be manipulated. He set down his empty Champagne glass, picked up another one, and stared right at her as he drank from it. Her face fell, and he informed her,_

' _I will not be complicit in illegally serving alcohol to an underage witch, Miss Black.'_

 _She grinned and huffed. 'Cranberry punch it is, then.'_

' _Mmm-hmm.' Voldemort took another small sip and realised he was staring at her again. Suddenly he shoved the Champagne glass at her, and she took it with a look of surprise._

' _Don't tell anyone you got that from me,' he whispered, and Bellatrix flashed him an almost incandescent smile._

' _Happy birthday, Master,' she said, downing the entire flute of Champagne in three gulps and setting the glass down on the table. He smiled at her as she curtsied, then turned and walked away, right off to Rodolphus Lestrange, who snared his fingers through hers and swept her into conversation._

Bellatrix pulled slowly out of Voldemort's mind and rose from the chair where she'd been sitting in the Malfoy dining room. He stood, too, and he hovered over her, his fingers lacing through her curls as he met her eyes.

"You were flirting with me," she teased him, and he shook his head fiercely.

"No. You were sixteen. I knew better than to flirt."

"I do remember it now," she said honestly. "It didn't seem as important then, because… well, how was I to know that I would fall in love with you? Marry you? Put a piece of my soul next to yours beneath the floorboards of your mother's house? How was I to know any of it?"

He shrugged. "You weren't. I remember it vividly because it was the night I decided to make you a Death Eater. There was no real question after that; it was obvious that your servitude would be more genuinely about me than about you. You weren't a sycophant. You weren't aspirational. You just wanted to serve me, and that was the first night I knew it. The fact that you've always been distractingly pretty is… was… inconsequential."

"Was it?" Bellatrix smiled up at him a little, and he shut his eyes as he mumbled,

"I find myself wanting to look over those photos again."

"You know," Bellatrix told him, dragging her fingers down the front of his expensive robes, "You can look them whilst I'm on my knees. I can pleasure you while you -"

He cut her off with a kiss, hard and almost vicious in intensity, and when he pulled away, his breath had quickened a little. He dragged her hand beneath his robes to where he was going hard, and he growled,

"Careful what you say, Bella; you'll wind up bent over this table with me buried inside of you."

She smirked and tipped her head as she stroked at his cock through his trousers.

"Let's go home, Master. You didn't get any sleep at all; I know that's true."

He sighed a little, and she deepened the pressure of her hand on him as she whispered,

"You can look at the pictures and paint my face with your come. Master."

"Office. Fireplace. Now." His face was red and his nostrils were flared, and Bellatrix smiled broadly as she trotted to keep up with his long strides as he left the dining room.

 **Author's Note: Heh heh heh… so Voldemort recovered nicely from his little stumble. But what happens when Bellatrix leads a crew to take out a Goblin family? *ominous background music* Thanks for reading and PLEASE review if you have a spare moment.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note: This mini-chapter, which is a shameful lemon, goes out to Star Chamber, who reviews loyally despite not being logged in (so I can't answer you directly; sorry about that)! As per your request… one little lemon before the action kicks back up. ;)**

Voldemort gasped as though he were drowning. He blinked quickly until his eyes made enough peace with the darkness for him to read the clock on the wall. Three. It was three in the morning. He gulped and shut his eyes, his heart racing and his breath quick in his nostrils. He couldn't remember what he'd been dreaming, but it had been enough to jolt him awake.

It had also been enough to leave him absolutely rock hard in his pyjama trousers, an annoying reality given the hour. For five solid minutes, Voldemort tried to ignore the pulsing erection, but it was stubborn. It only got worse when he opened his eyes and turned his head toward Bellatrix. She looked peaceful, serene even, where she lay beside him. Later today, she'd be murdering a family of goblins, but right now she looked absolutely ethereal.

He couldn't wake her and demand sex. He'd made a nasty habit of doing that, and he refused to do it to her when she had important work to do later in the day. She needed sleep, not his cock.

But after ten more minutes of lying on his back and staring at the ceiling with an uncomfortably insistent erection, he huffed almost angrily and sat up. He moved slowly, careful not to wake Bellatrix, and he reached for his wand on the bedside table.

 _Lumos_ , he thought, and a ghostly white light emanated from the wand. Bellatrix winced a little and rotated away from Voldemort, but she didn't wake. He pressed just a little into her mind and sensed a fuzzy grey haze. He was as certain as her brilliant mind would let him be that she was sleeping.

Voldemort used his left hand to yank his trousers down a little and to pull back the blankets. His cock stood at attention, visibly twitching a little. Was it really so big as Bellatrix always said, he wondered, or was she just flattering him? Voldemort moved his wand to his left hand and wrapped his right one around the shaft of his cock. His fingers didn't meet, and Bellatrix always insisted that for a man's hand not to close round the shaft was completely abnormal. He'd seen other penises from time to time, having attended a boarding school, and of course little Myrandae had practically run around with her hair on fire telling anyone who would listen that Tom Riddle had a freakishly large cock.

Voldemort pursed his lips and decided he was rather proud of it, of the member that was more manly than anyone else's, of the organ that instilled pain alongside pleasure when he entered Bellatrix.

Bellatrix.

He reached with his right hand to open the drawer of the bedside table, and he pulled out the album of erotic photographs she'd had made for his birthday. He'd managed not to look at it since New Year's Day, a week earlier, but now he couldn't help himself. He bent his knees and balanced the album on his thighs, and he gave one more glance toward Bellatrix to be sure she was asleep. Convinced he was acting alone, Voldemort nonverbally incanted, _Lubrico._

A slick sheen of invisible lubrication spread around his tip and shaft as he realised he had too much going on for two hands. He tucked his wand behind his ear and aimed it down a little until the soft bluish white light illuminated the album. He used his left hand to pry open the cover, and his breath caught.

There she was, in nothing but thigh-high fishnets and terrifying spiked heels, straddling a chair backward and revealing her womanhood to the camera. He watched her push her hair away and flash a little smirk, and then the little movement repeated itself. He studied her breasts, partially concealed by the chair. He looked at the shape of her thin legs, the little hint of a curve at her hip. His breath shook through clenched teeth as he made his right hand into a fist and brought it down over his tip.

He shut his eyes and pretended that he was pushing into Bellatrix, though of course it was never this easy to fuck her. Her body still fought him every single time, and he liked that. This was good, but it wasn't the same sensation as entering her. He pulled his hand up, lingering at the place where his tip met his shaft. He turned the page and struggled to stay silent at the sight of the second photograph.

She was lying on her back, and the image showed only her breasts ensconced in a black lace bra, her arms, and her face. She arched up toward the camera, her dark eyes looking drowsy with want. Had she been thinking of him when Malika Shacklebolt had taken these pictures? Had she been thinking of the two of them together?

Voldemort flicked his eyes to where she lay facing away from him, and his breath quickened a bit more. He pushed his fist down over his tip a few more times, using as much pressure and squeezing as much as he could bear. He hesitated, for he almost came when his eyes met the gaze Bellatrix was using in the photograph.

"Bella…" His voice whispered her name aloud very much against his will, and he almost called the entire thing off. But somehow he made his left hand turn the page, and he chomped hard on his lip at the sight of the third photograph.

She was curled over the arm of a sofa, giving the camera a teasing look as she pushed her backside up and rocked her heeled foot just a little. Voldemort bucked his hips up, shoving his cock into his slick fist, and he wrenched his eyes shut. His heart was like the hoofs of a galloping horse inside his chest, and his lungs were burning with the exertion of trying to stay silent. He turned the page again, and the fourth photograph did him in.

 _His_ shirt. She'd taken _his_ tunic shirt to be photographed, knowing that he'd like to see her wearing it. She'd unbuttoned the tunic to reveal the gentle swell of her breasts, and she'd worn lace knickers to kneel for the camera. She tossed her hair in the photograph and smiled, and then she did it again and again. She did it because she knew he liked her hair wild, her curls flying.

"For fuck's sake… Bella…" He wasn't being very quiet, he thought distantly, but he couldn't help himself. He had to shove the album away for fear of coming all over it, and he tipped himself back a little in an effort to contain the mess. His come burst out in streams that made puddles all over his chest and belly, and he groaned rather loudly. He'd wake her, he thought, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't make his breathing go quiet or slow down, no matter how hard he tried. He was dizzy, thirsty, exhausted. He was sated. He was flush through with pleasure because of her, because of his Bellatrix.

Finally he reached with a shaking right hand and pulled his wand from behind his left ear, and he whispered in a trembling voice,

" _T-Tergeo. Scourgify. Coppa Crystallum. Aguamenti. Nox._ "

A few things happened quickly then. The puddles of his seed were siphoned off his stomach and chest, and his skin was cleansed of any trace from the mess. He Conjured a glass and then filled it with water from his wand, and then he snuffed out the bright white-blue light. He set his wand down with a shaking hand, opened the bedside table drawer and carefully put the album inside, and used one hand to yank up his trousers whilst he swigged down the water.

"As erotic as that was, even facing away from you," said a gentle voice from beside him, "I hope you know I wouldn't have minded helping you. Master."

He almost dropped the glass, and it took everything he had to just set it down and shut his eyes.

"How long have you been awake?" His voice was hoarse and unsteady, and Bellatrix sounded a little amused as she rolled toward him and admitted,

"I woke up a little when you lit your wand. I rolled over but didn't fall back to sleep. You weren't really very discreet, I have to say."

"I… I woke up to find that I was _very_ hard," Voldemort admitted, "and I didn't want to bother you. I figured the photographs and my own hand were more than enough to fix the problem."

Bellatrix smiled a little and nodded, looking sleepy in the darkness. He lay down facing her and asked seriously,

"Did I distress you? I didn't mean to… to be disgusting in any way."

"What? No." She brushed her lips against his and murmured, "I fully confess that I was touching myself as soon as I realised what was going on."

He scoffed a little. "You were?"

"Oh, yes. And I felt it when you came," she whispered, her breath warm and pleasant where she kissed his cheekbone. "I felt it in my veins, and you pushed me straight over the edge."

"Oh." Voldemort gulped and suddenly wanted more water. He sighed and said, "I should have just woken you, I suppose."

"I'm just glad you like the photos," Bellatrix said softly, and as Voldemort moved onto his back, he laughed a little and said,

"That's the understatement of the century. I'm rather addicted to the photos. I want more of them."

"Do you?" She giggled a little and whispered, "Maybe for your forty-seventh birthday, Master."

"Get a little more sleep, Bellatrix." He urged her to lie against him, and he felt her soft, springy curls beneath his fingers. He kissed her forehead and reminded her, "You've got goblins to kill for me in a few hours' time, and I want you in peak form. So get a little more sleep."

"Yes, My Lord," she mumbled, kissing his chest. Voldemort shut his eyes, and this time he quickly settled into the oblivion of rest.

 **Author's Note: Whew! That was… um… dirty. Please feel free to leave your thoughts on… that. Haha. Promise that we'll see more murder and mayhem in the next chapter!**


	24. Chapter 24

" _Kravak soros taralat… taralat abbatak mlevok."_

"What the fuck are they saying?" hissed Avery, and Bellatrix glared at him in the darkness.

"It's Gobbledegook, you numty. I've no idea what they're saying and it doesn't matter, anyway. Everyone clear on the plan?"

"Yes, My Lady," muttered Nott. Beside him, Rabastan Lestrange adjusted his grip on his wand and nodded crisply.

"Charge," Bellatrix said smoothly, and she stepped confidently up to the cottage. This family of goblins was headed by a patriarch who managed the opening of new vaults at Gringotts. There was a matriarch and six offspring, from an infant to an adult male. So there were eight goblins in total inside this cottage, just a little outside Nottingham, and there were four Death Eaters coming to attack. Bellatrix would go for the Gringotts employee first - the patriarch, Borok. Meanwhile, Lestrange would take out the matriarch, and Avery and Nott would get as many of the offspring as possible. At the end of it, Bellatrix would clean up whatever was left and cast the Dark Mark in the sky. They would Disapparate and meet with Voldemort at Malfoy Manor to debrief.

Bellatrix charged up to the door and jabbed her wand forward. " _Confringo!_ "

The door exploded and flew away in flames, and Bellatrix hustled inside.

" _Kravak taralat niletalak!_ " screamed a low, gravelly voice. Bellatrix careened through a short doorway and found herself staring down at a wrinkled little male goblin. This was him, Borok. He shot his hand into the air, and Bellatrix sensed a spell shooting toward her. She nonverbally blocked the spell and immediately hissed,

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

There was a giant burst of green light, and Bellatrix strode away, back through the little door into the entryway. She glanced over her shoulder to see Borok lying slumped in a heap on the ground, most definitely dead. She scowled as she passed through the cottage's entry into the sitting-room on the other side.

Rabastan Lestrange was lying motionless on the ground, surrounded by the crumpled forms of goblin offspring. But the two eldest offspring - a male and a female - and the matriarch were fighting hard with Nott and Avery. The Death Eaters were expending so much energy blocking and countering Curses that they couldn't take out the last three goblins. Bellatrix snarled with rage and aimed her wand at Lestrange, muttering, " _Rennervate._ "

Then she aimed her wand at the eldest offspring, the male, and the matriarch shrieked,

" _Kravak lilek paramak! Vrabalat lilek paramak! Bak! Bak!"_

" _Avada Kedavra!"_ Bellatrix yelled, and while the green light was still glimmering in the air, she repeated the spell twice over for the matriarch and the eldest female offspring. Finally there was quiet in the room, and Lestrange sat up and rubbed at his head.

"So damned dizzy," he mumbled. Bellatrix glared at the three wizards she'd brought and hissed,

"I might as well have come without you. Get back to the Manor. Now! All of you! Go!"

They Disapparated one by one, looking embarrassed. Bellatrix counted goblin bodies to ensure they'd taken out the whole family. She shook her head with frustration and went back out to the main space, shoving a miniature chair aside as she stomped out the destroyed doorway. She stood in the lawn out front, shivering in the cold, and she aimed her wand at the sky.

" _Morsmordre,_ " she said, her voice silk in the cold night air. Glittering jade sparks burst from her wand and tattooed the sky with the Dark Mark. Bellatrix whirled to her right and Disapparated, leaving Nottingham and coming to just outside the gate of the gardens at Malfoy Manor. She took her time going inside, reckoning she'd let the boys try and defend themselves to the Dark Lord first. He'd see the truth in her head. He'd see the way the wizards had fallen short.

Bellatrix threw the great front doors open with a sweep of her wand, and her flat boots padded on the stairs as she climbed up to the first level. She moved down the corridor with deliberate steps, passing Voldemort's office and approaching the dining room where they were meant to be meeting. She waited outside the room, for she could hear Voldemort's voice snapping in the air.

"What do you _mean_ , you got Stupefied by a goblin?"

"I… they have their own wandless magic, Master," said Rabastan Lestrange, and Voldemort sneered.

"Yes. I was aware of that, and I certainly expected you to be aware of it. Where is… oh. Come in, Bella."

She smirked a little and walked into the dining room, setting her wand down on the table and yanking a chair out. She sat silently and said,

"They managed to kill the babies, My Lord. I took out Borok and then found the boys being absolutely battered by three tiny goblins. Well, two of the boys. Rabastan was unconscious on the floor."

Voldemort rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You're all lucky this wasn't a battle with Dumbledore. How humiliating for the three of you gentlemen. No, I won't be mentioning this at the next meeting. You can thank your Lady for saving you all from being executed by goblins."

There was silence for a moment, and Voldemort barked,

"Go on. Thank her."

"Thank you, My Lady, for rescuing me," Rabastan Lestrange said immediately, and the other two muttered their own thanks. Bellatrix nodded and said crisply,

"You're welcome. I might have done better on my own, but no matter now. The goblins are dead and the Dark Mark was cast in the sky. The _Daily Prophet_ will report on it tomorrow or the day after, I'm sure. Borok will be noticed missing immediately, and… the memo is ready, Master?"

"It is. I gave it to Cygnus Black today," Voldemort nodded. "It is a letter to be circulated at Gringotts, warning that neutrality is not an option for goblins, that complicity with my enemies will lead to death, and that I possess innumerable financial assets that can be quickly and easily removed from the goblins' control."

"Excellent," Bellatrix nodded. For a long moment, quiet hung in the room, until Avery cleared his throat and scratched a little at the scruff on his jaw. Nott chewed his bottom lip, and Rabastan Lestrange just looked ashamed of himself. Voldemort finally said in a quiet, lethal voice,

"The important thing is that the goblins are dead, and I know the details of how that came to be. Do better next time, the three of you. Dismissed."

"Master." Rabastan rose and bowed, and then he approached Bellatrix and descended to a knee. "I am sorry, My Lady."

Bellatrix was a little surprised by the show of deference, and she flicked her eyes over to Voldemort. He tipped his chin up imperiously and seemed very happy with what he was seeing. Bellatrix just whispered,

"Do better next time, Rabastan."

The other two wizards bowed low to her and apologised, and she nodded as they made their way out of the room. Once they were gone, she thought straight at Voldemort,

 _They mustn't treat me quite like that!_

"And why not?" he demanded aloud. "You saved their hides. Well done, by the way; I saw it all play out in Avery's mind."

Bellatrix huffed out a little breath and repeated,

"The goblins are dead."

"Yes." Voldemort smiled wickedly and drummed his fingers on the table. "I look forward to the headline."

* * *

" _IN WAKE OF SLAUGHTER, GOBLINS SIGN STATEMENT OF NEUTRALITY._ "

Voldemort read the headline aloud and slammed the _Daily Prophet_ down on his desk. He and Bellatrix had already been over the story this morning, and he'd discussed it with Yaxley, Rookwood, and Malfoy, since they were his main operatives at the Ministry. Now he sat opposite his father-in-law, and he snarled,

"Two hundred and sixty of the little beasts signed a letter stating that 'no intimidation tactic will involve goblins in the wars of wizardkind.' Are they really that daft, Cygnus?"

"With all due respect, Master," Cygnus Black said, looking white-faced, "I think it is actually that they… they condescend to us."

Voldemort blinked. "What could you possibly mean by that?"  
Cygnus hesitated. "They think that they are superior to wizards. Because they have longer life spans, their magic doesn't call for a wand, they have excellent metalwork and smithing traditions and abilities, and they control most of the financial world… they think that we are just pests. They despise the way the Ministry treats them, and they think we are stupid and bumbling. I understand Gobbledegook; anyone in finance work does. They gossip at Gringotts about 'idiot wizards' and 'moronic witches.'"

"Well, they will feel my wrath at once, in the dearth of wealth I control. I want every Galleon pulled from goblin control and put into the wizarding banks on the Continent. The Danish and Swiss banks… put it all there. I don't want those wretched creatures to control a single Knut of my financial interests."

"Understood, My Lord," Cygnus nodded. "I can have everything taken care of in a week or so; I'll need to be careful in emptying vaults and whatnot."

"Be quick about it," Voldemort snapped. "I want these goblins to see just who the idiots are. Dismissed. Go."

"Master." Cygnus rose from his chair, and there was a knock on Voldemort's office door. He could tell at once that it was her; she had a distinctive knock, and he could feel the shadow of her soul.

"Cygnus, go open the door for your daughter," Voldemort commanded, and Cygnus' mouth fell open a little. He nodded and made his way to the door, which he opened, and Voldemort heard Bellatrix say in a careful voice,

"Hullo, Daddy. Everything sorted out?"

"Yes, darling. I need to go so I can move quickly on this. Be well." Cygnus kissed his daughter's forehead and started to move past her. Voldemort waited until Bellatrix shut the door and came into the office, and then he seethed,

"They think we're idiots. Us! Witches and wizards! They think _we_ are inferior!"

"Well, Nott and Avery and Lestrange certainly seemed inferior when they were duelling the miniature animals," Bellatrix sighed, and Voldemort slammed his fist hard on the desk.

"For fuck's sake! This is not a joke!" he shouted, flying to his feet. She looked terrified of him all of a sudden, and he knew that his eyes had gone red. He blinked and growled, "I am the most powerful wizard in Britain. Yes, I am more powerful than even Albus Dumbledore. And I have a newspaper sitting on my desk bragging about a letter signed by hundreds of goblins repudiating my cause. And they whisper, they gossip. They say we are stupid! We are inferior to _them_ , to a race of hideous, awful little varmints! I want them all dead! Every last one of them!"

He jabbed his wand at the ceiling, severing the chain connecting the crystal chandelier to the ceiling. It crashed down onto the floor with a deafening clatter, and Bellatrix yelped, staggering back from the mess. She scowled at Voldemort and informed him tightly,

"That was childish, My Lord. _Reparo._ "

The chandelier quickly put itself to rights and soared back up to dangle from the ceiling. Bellatrix licked her bottom lip and said,

"The werewolves. Don't waste Death Eaters on these worthless little creatures. You've got werewolves on your side. Sic them on every known goblin residence in Britain. Have them eat the goblins alive. Send along the few goblins who are greedy enough to fight for you for a price - pit their magic against itself. _Goblins Quickly Being Eradicated In Attack After Attack_ , the newspaper will say."

Voldemort scoffed and put his hands on his hips. His breath shook in his nose as he nodded and said,

"I could put together a task force headed up by one Death Eater. Avery, probably. He's learnt his lesson, and he's not a complete nitwit. He could organise death squads of a goblin and two werewolves to attack goblin homes one at a time."

"Eventually, the ones left will crack," Bellatrix nodded, but Voldemort reminded us,

"History shows us that, under enough pressure, goblins are rather fond of revolting."

"Revolting against whom?" Bellatrix shrugged. "Against the Ministry that classifies them as being inferior to wizardkind? Against the Dark Lord who's taking out individual members of their race? It'd be a three-way war. They'll surrender or they'll die."

"Or they'll join Dumbledore," Voldemort said gravely, and Bellatrix glanced toward the door.

"Call my father back," she suggested. "Don't pull your money out. Pay loyal goblins handsomely. They love nothing more than they love wizarding money, and Dumbledore can't match you there."

Voldemort shut his eyes and took a long, trembling breath. He pressed his wand to his Dark Mark, calling out for Cygnus in the ether. After a while of quiet, there was a knock on the office door, and Bellatrix went to open it. She and Cygnus silently walked into the office, and Voldemort gulped.

"Cygnus," he said, "your daughter has had an idea that will either save or ruin everything I've built. Let's find out which, shall we?"

 **Author's Note: Ooooh. Bellatrix is getting much more involved in reining in Voldemort's rage impulses while maintaining her own vicious ferocity. And she's making suggestions on policy. But it's as Voldemort says - will this plan salvage or destroy the movement? Thank you for reading and a huuuuge thanks to those who have left feedback. I know I'm updating at warp speed, so if you've taken the time to leave a review on these rapid-fire chapters, I'm especially grateful.**


	25. Chapter 25

"Is the steak overdone? It's a bit well for my taste." Voldemort looked worried as he stared across the dining room table at Bellatrix. She was poking meekly at the steak she'd cut into cubes, and she shook her head. She was tired, more tired than she could remember being in a good long while. Voldemort frowned and demanded, "When is the last time you ate properly?"

Bellatrix set down her fork and stared at the little vase of burgundy roses in the centre of the table. "It's been a few days, Master."

He took another bite of steak and sipped from his red wine, and then he said sharply,

"I have been neglecting you. I apologise."

"You've not," she assured him. "You've been very busy. Fenrir's attack on the goblins in Doncaster, the Ministry and the _Prophet_ panicking, Dumbledore canceling the first Hogsmeade trip of the term… it's all a bit chaotic at the moment. I know that."

"Still," he said rather sharply, "I have not attended properly to your needs, and I realise that in the wake of creating a Horcrux, your needs are… different… than most. I've scarcely laid a finger on you, and I confess that at meals, I've been thinking of things besides your appetite."

Bellatrix scoffed out a little laugh and insisted, "My Lord, I can hardly blame you for putting me at the bottom of your list right now."

He scowled and dropped his fork and knife with a clatter. "You are the very top of… no, there is no list. There is you, Bellatrix, and then there's everything else. Have you used the scale upstairs?"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes a little and looked away, and when Voldemort cleared his throat loudly, she said, "Three kilograms in the last week. That's how much I've lost. I promise I'm doing my best."

"I am going to Imperius you now," he said matter-of-factly. "Please try to absorb it. Look at me."

She did, and he picked up his wand and aimed it straight at her. " _Imperio._ "

Bellatrix let the green smoke wash over her, and she blinked through the sensation of him utterly controlling her. She stared at him for a moment, and finally he said in a sad, resigned sort of voice,

"Please eat some of your steak, Bella."

She silently picked up her knife and fork and ate three cubes of steak, methodically chewing and swallowing each. She got thirsty then, and Voldemort murmured,

"Drink some wine and eat some mashed potato. Please."

She did, sipping the red wine and then using her spoon to bring three or four mouthfuls of potato between her lips. Voldemort started to look very relieved, but Bellatrix felt acutely nauseated, and she whispered,

"I'm going to be sick."

" _Nonemesis,_ " he said in a gentle sort of voice, and the awful feeling passed.

"Just one more bite of each, Bella," he told her. "You're doing well. Very well."

She speared another cube of steak and chewed it, and she forced one more bite of potato into her mouth. She set her fork down with a shaking hand to see Voldemort rise from his chair and murmur,

" _Finite Incantatem._ " He came around the table and held his hand out, and he whispered, "May I have this dance?"

She smirked a bit and stood, walking with him from the dining room and down the corridor. They went into the library, and Bellatrix listened to the cold rain falling outside as she mused,

"Poor Cissy and Lucius, not getting to go to Hogsmeade. Dumbledore must be truly frightened to take measures like that."

"He doesn't want his staff or students dropping dead," Voldemort shrugged. "Can you blame him? As for the goblins… your father signed contracts of loyalty and paid off fifteen new ones just in the last week. Some of the more idiotic ones will have to die; the ones with a sense of self-preservation will take our money and serve us."

"Between the werewolves, the giants, and the goblins, you are amassing quite the army of mercenaries," Bellatrix grinned. Voldemort flicked his wand at the fireplace, sending blazes over the logs inside, and he tucked his wand away.

"No more talk of business tonight," he instructed her firmly. "I've come into this library to dance."

Bellatrix nodded and took his hand, feeling his other fingers cinch a little at her back. Music began to play in their heads, a very gentle four-beat piece for strings, and Bellatrix sighed with relief.

"Oh, good," she said. "I don't think I had swing dancing in me tonight."

Voldemort chuckled a little as they rocked, and after a while he twirled her slowly and wrapped her back up in his arms. She stared up at him, studying the eyes that swallowed her up whole at times like this. She glanced down to his lips and thought desperately that she needed to be kissed. He bent and touched his lips to hers, then kissed her cheekbone and whispered,

"I need this medicine, too, you know. I've been… tired."

"Conquering the entire wizarding world of Britain must be exhausting," Bellatrix said, only half teasing him. When he pulled back, he dipped her a little, kissed her a bit more firmly, and informed her,

"I'm going to have you curled up naked with me tonight, and tomorrow, and the next day, and -"

"I'm bleeding, Master," Bellatrix laughed. "I'm not as starving as all that, I'm afraid."

"Oh. Well, that's actually quite a relief," Voldemort said, resuming their easy, rocking dance. He sighed a little and said, "In a few days, then, I'm going to take you. Over and over."

"I look forward to that," Bellatrix nodded. She just stared at him for a long while, until the music in her mind ended with a gentle pulse of the strings. She let her hands fall from Voldemort, and he said suddenly,

"I remember the first time I ever danced with you. Ever."

Bellatrix nodded. "At the Malfoy Christmas -"

"No," Voldemort interrupted her. "It was before then. I'm not surprised you don't remember. It was at your aunt's wedding."

"The wedding where I stole the Champagne?" Bellatrix threw up an eyebrow, and Voldemort seized her hands as he said,

"Go on. Look into my head and see."

Bellatrix hesitated but then cleared her throat and said with firm intention, " _Legilimens._ "

' _Mr. Riddle. It has been a good long while, hasn't it?' Cygnus Black III walked up to Voldemort and flashed him a winning, confident smile. Voldemort bowed his head respectfully and said,_

' _Cygnus. Good to see you again. It is Lord Voldemort these days, actually.'_

' _Is it? I thought Abraxas was making that up.' Cygnus winked and laughed a little. 'He also said you were in desperate need of funding.'_

 _Voldemort's cheeks went hot, and he snapped the hem of his dress robes as he said, 'I certainly wouldn't use the word desperate. I am in search of those bold enough to invest in a political movement that will shape the future of wizarding Britain.'_

' _With you at its head?' Cygnus asked, and Voldemort nodded._

' _You'll want a place at the closest table fifteen years from now, Cygnus. I can promise you that. Join me as a financial expert, and you will be justly rewarded.'_

 _Cygnus looked almost entranced by Voldemort's silky words. He sighed a little and nodded._

' _I always looked up to you in school, sir. Always knew you'd become something great. I shall talk over it with Druella, and I'll write to you on the matter, if that suits.'_

' _Perfect.' Voldemort nodded smoothly. Suddenly a little girl with springy, wild black curls came trotting up in her poufy black gown and cried,_

' _Daddy! Daddy, I want to dance! Will you dance with me?'_

' _Not now, Bellatrix; can't you see that I'm busy?' Cygnus Black snapped. Voldemort frowned at the way the little girl's face fell. She pouted and crossed her arms._

' _I'll wait until you're ready,' she said, and it took everything Voldemort had not to choke out a laugh at her audacity. Cygnus gave her a very dirty look and then said to Voldemort apologetically,_

' _My eldest. Bellatrix.'_

' _Pleased to meet you, Bellatrix. My name is Lord Voldemort,' he said, bowing as though she were royalty. The little girl gave him a sceptical look and snapped,_

' _What sort of name is that?'_

' _It's more of a title,' Voldemort informed her. Bellatrix looked him up and down and demanded,_

' _Well, Lord Voldemort, do you dance?'_

 _Now Voldemort did laugh a little, and he looked to Cygnus. 'May I?'_

' _Oh, by all means,' Cygnus grinned. 'If you want to try and handle her, sir, she's all yours. Take her forever, please; get her off my hands.'_

 _He was joking, of course, but Bellatrix stuck her tongue out at him just the same. Voldemort walked with Bellatrix out to the dance floor and then suggested,_

' _Might be easier, little miss, if you stand on my feet.'_

' _I'll get your shiny shoes dirty,' Bellatrix pointed out, and Voldemort smirked as he said,_

' _Grown-ups can cast spells to clean shoes.'_

' _I can't wait until I can do proper magic, not just lighting things on fire,' Bellatrix said, moving to stand on Voldemort's shoes. He fought hard not to laugh at her as he took her hands in his and started to sway._

' _That's not how you do it,' Bellatrix said, jabbing a finger at Cerda and Abraxas Malfoy nearby. 'See? See how he's holding her arm up to the side with his hand on her back?'_

' _I can't quite reach that low,' Voldemort shrugged, and Bellatrix scowled._

' _Someday, I'm going to dance properly, like them. When I'm a grown-up witch, I'll dance like that with a grown-up wizard.'_

' _Hmm. Well, I look forward to seeing that someday, though I'll be very old by then,' Voldemort told her. Bellatrix swayed with him for awhile, blowing her curls away when they fell in front of her impossibly round black eyes. She finally asked,_

' _Lord Voldemort, will you get me a glass of Champagne?'_

' _What? Ha! No. Absolutely not,' Voldemort said, and Bellatrix gave him a death glare._

' _Why not?'_

' _My, but you are a rather exhausting little creature, aren't you?' Voldemort teased. 'I'm not getting you Champagne because you're a little girl, and little girls don't get to drink Champagne. You'll have plenty of time for it when you're older. It's not good for you when you're little.'_

' _Well, someday I'm going to dance properly and drink Champagne all in the same night,' Bellatrix huffed._

' _I'm sure you will,' Voldemort said in a conciliatory tone. Bellatrix suddenly yanked his right arm until he was holding her shoulder, and she reached her left hand up to clutch at his robes. She wrenched their other hands out to her right and snapped,_

' _This is better.'_

' _Merlin's Beard; will this song ever end?' Voldemort mumbled, giving Bellatrix a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes. 'Your poor mother must pull her hair out over you. You'll be a hellion of a wife for some poor wizard someday. Lighting things on fire and asking for Champagne. How old are you?'_

' _Seven,' Bellatrix said. 'How old are you? Fifty?'_

' _I'm thirty-two, thanks very much.' Voldemort stopped rocking then, for the music had mercifully ended. He pulled back and released the ill-tempered child, and he lied, 'It's been my honour. Thank you for the dance, Miss Black.'_

' _You're welcome, Lord Voldemort,' she said, curtsying and whirling on a heel, her curls bouncing as she flounced away toward the Champagne table._

Bellatrix pulled out of Voldemort's mind and laughed uproariously. She shook her head up at him and insisted,

"You're making that up! That did not happen."

"Oh, yes, it did," he said. "You were an awful little child."

"Well, I knew that much," Bellatrix sighed. She snared her arms around Voldemort's shoulders and whispered, "But I haven't been a child for a while now."

"No, you're all grown up," Voldemort conceded. "And now you can have Champagne whenever you like, and dance properly, and be a hellion of a wife for some poor wizard."

He smirked at that last bit, tucking her curls behind her ear, and he admitted,

"I thought you'd grow up and head straight into a cell in Azkaban, to be honest."

"I'm never going to Azkaban," she said flatly. "I'm the wife of the Dark Lord. I can do what I want. What _you_ want."

"Well, what I want is to kiss you," Voldemort told her, and she nodded. He touched his forehead to hers and whispered, "You thought I was fifty."

"I think I thought my father was seventy-five," Bellatrix replied, and Voldemort snorted. He brushed his lips onto hers and said,

"I'm actually rather glad that I had precisely no idea at the time that I'd be madly in love with you when you grew up. It would have been an odd thing to know, and I look back rather fondly at that not-even-sort-of-innocent little girl dancing on my shoes."

"I can't believe my father called you by your old name," Bellatrix breathed, "or that he spoke to you so condescendingly."

Voldemort just breathed for a long moment, and he finally whispered, "I've been climbing my whole life, Bella, and I'm climbing still."

"Well," she said, "I'm just behind you on your ladder."

He kissed her then, _properly_ , and she moaned softly against his mouth. It went on forever, his tongue searching, his teeth nibbling. When at last he pulled away, he murmured,

"I love you, Bellatrix." Then he kissed her forehead, squeezed her shoulders, and walked quickly out of the library, his feet quick and light on the stairs.

 **Author's Note: Always good to get a little bit of a breather and some Bellamort fluff, no? I love imagining terrible little baby Bella. Haha. As always, thank you so much for reading and a MASSIVE thanks for any feedback. It is truly so appreciated.**


	26. Chapter 26

Bellatrix set down the broomstick that she so rarely used. It rolled off the slate tiles of the roof, thumping quietly as it hit the copper gutter and then careened over the edge. Bellatrix stood at the roof's edge and watched the broomstick fall.

She still wasn't exactly sure why she was up here. She'd had a dream about Vivian Chenoweth, the witch she'd used to make her Horcrux. The dream had been the same vivid mixture of horrific experiences that Bellatrix had endured during the process of splitting her soul. She'd woken coated in sweat, and she'd immediately risen and wrapped a velvet robe around herself, going to fetch a broomstick and using it to come up here to the roof.

She didn't want to die, but something was telling her to jump. She edged her bare feet toward the edge of the shingles and glanced down. The mansion was only three storeys, and she wasn't sure that the fall would be enough to kill her.

She didn't want to die, but she felt absolutely compelled to jump.

"Bellatrix!"

She blinked slowly, feeling as though she were in a daze as she watched Voldemort come dashing out into the frigid night in nothing but his pyjama trousers. He held his hands up and said in an oddly calm voice,

"I know what you're thinking of doing. Do not do it. _Please_. I love you."

"If you fly up here, I'll jump before you arrive," Bellatrix's voice answered, and she frowned, for it didn't feel like she was coming up with the words herself. She scowled down at Voldemort and snapped, "Go back inside!"

"Sit down. I will come and get you," Voldemort said, taking a few barefoot steps on the frosty grass. Bellatrix shook her head and called,

"I have to. I have to do it, to jump. I don't know why."

"Bella, no!" Voldemort's voice was shaking then, and Bellatrix felt tears come to her eyes as she yelled down,

"I am so sorry, Master."

Then she jumped.

There was silence for a split second, and she hurtled downward, her nightgown and robe rippling around her in the cold, dark air. Suddenly there was a _thump_ , and Bellatrix wondered why it hadn't hurt to hit the ground. But she looked up to see that she was wrapped up in Voldemort's arms. He'd kicked off the ground with his gift of unassisted flight, and he'd caught her midair. They eased down to the grass, and he kept holding her as he shook his head wildly.

"If I hadn't woken up and come out here, Bellatrix, you might be dead right now."

"I didn't want to die," she mumbled, shivering in the chill. She tucked her face against Voldemort's chest, and he huffed.

"I know," he said. "I almost jumped off a bridge a few weeks after I made my first one. I still don't know why. Some Muggle man passing in an automobile talked me back into my senses. I didn't want to die, either. Obviously."

He had started to carry her back into the house, and she whispered,

"The broom."

"I'll get it later," he said in a snap. He brought her into the sitting room and barked, "Coopy! Get tea and biscuits. Now!"

"Yes, Master!" cried the House-Elf's croaking voice from another room. Voldemort sat on the sofa, keeping Bellatrix in his arms, and he shut his eyes for a moment.

"Did you see it all again?" he asked. "The blend of her trauma and yours?"

"Yes," Bellatrix whispered. "And then it was like I was Imperiused. Like I had to jump, like I had no choice."

"My theory is that your soul is… trying to reunite itself with the bit that's been severed," he said.

"Well, what did you do about it?" Bellatrix asked softly. He shrugged.

"It never happened again after the first time. But I almost died, and so did you. Bella." His throat bobbed as Coopy came into the room with a silver cart of tea and sweets. The House-Elf scurried off, and Voldemort reached for a chocolate biscuit. He nibbled on it a little and then handed it to Bellatrix, but she didn't feel like eating just now.

"Please take just one bite," he whispered, "so I know that I haven't killed you in trying to make you immortal."

Bellatrix forced herself to bite and chew a little bit of the biscuit, and she whispered,

"This is the Darkest magic I've ever performed. Making a Horcrux."

"It is, I think, the Darkest magic there is," Voldemort nodded, "and there is a price for such Darkness. We must be careful. I do not want to find out what it means to need the Horcruxes, Bellatrix."

He'd said that before, but never in the plural. Did he fear for them both? Bellatrix forced a second little bite of the chocolate biscuit and then passed it back, sitting up and arranging herself on the sofa beside him with her knees tucked up to her chest.

"I'm sorry," she said, and Voldemort gnawed his lip beside her.

"Once again, I find myself very grateful for our odd link. I could feel the danger, the impending doom, pulsing in my mind. When I woke, I knew, I just _knew_ somehow, that you were up on the roof. I almost fell dashing down the stairs; I should have just flown out the window. I wasn't thinking clearly. I was terrified I'd be a moment too late."

"And you knew why I was there," Bellatrix nodded, turning her face to him. "You weren't angry when you were on the lawn. You were calm."

"I was pretending to be calm," he corrected her, "but, yes, I knew why you were up there, and I knew you'd jump."

"Thank you for catching me," Bellatrix muttered, and then she added, "Master."

"I've told you before, and I'll say it again," he said rather roughly. "I will not let you fall, Bellatrix. Not ever."

* * *

"My Lord, I do not mean to interfere in affairs beyond my purview," said Abraxas Malfoy, "but I feel the need to bring this to your attention. Rookwood obtained it from our plants in Law Enforcement and Control of Magical Creatures."

Abraxas passed over a thin dossier, and Voldemort frowned as he took it. The clock on the office mantle ticked and ticked and then chimed softly to mark ten o'clock. Voldemort opened the dossier and read aloud.

"Seventeen Muggles attacked in a six-week span… all of them infected with lycanthropy. What, you think our werewolves are deliberately spreading their condition?"

"There are some," Malfoy said delicately, "who believe that Fenrir Greyback and his motley crew care absolutely nothing for you or your cause or even money. There are some who believe Greyback seeks only to gain access to and infect as many victims as possible in order to create a larger, more powerful contingent of werewolves to confront wizardkind."

Voldemort shut the file and slammed it down on the desk.

"Between the damned goblins and now the werewolves, I really have had more than enough of these animals abusing my generosity," he sneered. "Who's in charge of Greyback at the moment?"

"In charge, Master?" Malfoy seemed surprised. "Greyback is in charge, My Lord, of the squads of werewolves and goblins that take out goblin enemies. He answers to Avery in an advisory capacity, but it's Greyback who leads those missions, when it comes to boots on the ground."

"I want this delivered directly to Greyback. Give me a moment." Voldemort snatched a blank piece of parchment and a self-inking quill, and he began to write as neatly as he could.

 _Greyback,_

 _Control your impulses and cease all deliberate creation of new werewolves at once. Your mandate is simple and is not to be ignored or expanded upon. You are to eliminate the specific goblins whose names and addresses are given to you. The next time I receive word from the Ministry that you or your fellow werewolves have deliberately created more of your kind, I shall personally eliminate every last one of you, and I shall take great pleasure in doing so._

 _Serve me properly or die._

 _Lord Voldemort_

He blew on the ink to dry it, rolled up the parchment into a scroll, and drizzled wax from a sealing stick he heated up onto the seam. He picked up his heavy metal seal with its Dark Mark and pressed it to the black wax, and he handed it over to Malfoy.

"See to it that this is delivered to Greyback at once. I don't want…"

He trailed off then, for he could feel that Bellatrix was pacing anxiously outside his door. He cleared his throat and called,

"Come in, Bellatrix."

The door opened, and Bellatrix entered hesitantly. She was white-faced and looked terrified, and suddenly Voldemort said,

"Malfoy, get that letter to Greyback. Dismissed."

"My Lord." Malfoy flew to his feet and bowed respectfully. As he passed Bellatrix, he bowed his head and murmured, "My Lady."

As soon as the door shut, Voldemort demanded,

"What's the matter?"

"It happened again," she said softly, stepping toward his desk. "I was at my parents' house in London, and all of a sudden I could feel the terrible blend of horror, and I just… I walked outside and… and I almost stepped in front of a Muggle truck. My mother yanked me back; she wants me put into St Mungo's. She thinks I'm suicidal."

"So that's what that dreadful sensation an hour ago was," Voldemort nodded. He folded his hands on his desk and asked frankly, "Do you want to die, Bellatrix?"

"No. No, I do not." Her eyes welled heavily and she shook her head, coming to sit opposite him. "I've never been this afraid. My mother only just barely yanked me away from the truck. I was very nearly struck."

"Right. I've had enough," Voldemort said with a crisp nod. "I'm going to send owls to Malfoy, Yaxley, and your father instructing them not to bother me unless it's an emergency, and then only by owl. I've actually got more books on the Isle of Man than I've got in Little Hangleton. We're going there for a few days, and I'm going to get to the bottom of all of this - the eating, the… the urge to destroy yourself. You're not reacting well at all to this process."

"I'm so sorry!" Bellatrix said, tears streaming down her pretty cheeks, but Voldemort shook his head and said,

"I haven't the time or patience for crying and perseverating. It's time to act. I will use whatever spells and potions and Dark magic I need to to fix this. You will not be out of my sight, not even for a moment. I'll avert my eyes whilst you're using the toilet, but you'll not leave my side for even a second. I'll bind you to me whilst we sleep. I will not let you…"

"Die," Bellatrix finished for him, and Voldemort gulped as he nodded.

"Right. I will not let you die. So we're going to the Isle of Man, and we're not coming back until I've gotten to the bottom of this."

"My Lord," Bellatrix said very carefully, "what if something does happen to me?"

"Are you deaf?" he snapped. "I just said that I will allow nothing to happen. You will not be out of my sight, Bellatrix; I will personally protect you."

"But you've so much else to handle at the moment!" Bellatrix cried, and Voldemort shook his head.

"I can communicate easily by owl, Bella, and if my entire movement falls apart because I'm in the Irish Sea for a few days, then I've got more problems than Fenrir Greyback."

She looked a little confused, but she finally nodded and whispered again,

"I'm very sorry."

"No. I'm the one that insisted you make a Horcrux. I've done it so much now that I underestimated just how powerful the side effects of such Dark Magic can be. But I will not let you die, Bellatrix. Be prepared to get awfully tired of me, because this is as far apart as you're going to be from me for a while."

He gestured across the desk, and Bellatrix smiled sadly.

"I could never grow tired of you, Master."

"Hmph," he huffed, reaching for a parchment to write his first letter. "We'll see about that."

 **Author's Note: Oh, no! Bellatrix doesn't want to die, but her split soul is trying to kill her. Will Voldemort be able to protect her? Will he be able to research the matter well enough to get a good solution in place? Will Bellatrix get tired of him? Mwah hahaha… I have to say, I am *really* looking forward to the next few chapters. Buckle up! Reviews earn your House fifty points apiece. Woo hoo!**


	27. Chapter 27

"Have you got everything you need in there?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix nodded as she patted her Expanded suitcase. She had packed five nightgowns, a variety of leggings and tunics, knickers and bras, outer robes, a cloak, her toiletries, and extra boots. She smiled weakly at him and assured him,

"I've got plenty, Master. You've got the fresh foods in yours?"

"Yes," he nodded. "Right. Let's go, then."

He clutched her hand in his and stared at her for a long moment, and he said seriously,

"I will keep you safe."

Bellatrix shut her eyes, tired of crying, and nodded. She concentrated hard as she was whipped through Side-Along Apparition, and when she opened her eyes, they were standing in front of the little white cottage on the Isle of Man.

Suddenly, a terrible sensation inside of Bellatrix commanded her to _drown, drown, drown._ She dropped her suitcase and whispered,

"I'm sorry."

Then she Disapparated from where she stood, focusing hard on the idea of being out in the grey sea that churned behind them. She opened her eyes and gasped for air, flailing to the surface of the icy water and feeling like a thousand knives were stabbing her all at once.

 _Cold._ It was so cold, colder than anything she could imagine. She tried to stay alive, to stay afloat, but her limbs started to go numb. The impulse inside of Bellatrix insisted that she let herself slip beneath the surface of the water, so she did. She shut her eyes and let the cold darkness of the water surround her. After awhile, her lungs started to burn from holding her breath, and a moment after that, everything was black and quiet.

The next thing Bellatrix knew, she was blinking her eyes open to find herself lying in the bed where she'd healed from her Splinching and from making her Horcrux. She stared at the ceiling, listening to the waves crashing outside, and she whispered,

"Will anything good ever happen in this bed?"

"You tried to drown yourself," Voldemort said gravely. She turned her head to see him sitting in a chair beside the bed, looking remarkably irritated, his arms crossed over his chest. "You didn't drown, but you almost froze. I had to administer Draught of Living Death to you whilst I healed you up. And, I'm sorry, but I've also hexed you so that you won't be able to Apparate. It's for your own good."

"How long have I been sleeping?" Bellatrix asked, for she felt stiff and sore. She sat up slowly, and Voldemort hesitated. Finally, he said,

"Nine days." Bellatrix gasped in shock, but Voldemort shrugged. He sat up and folded his arms in his lap. "I spent the time researching. I have a few… ideas."

"All right." Bellatrix swallowed and mumbled, "I'm thirsty…"

"Here." Voldemort picked up a glass of water from the bedside table, and as Bellatrix drank, he said, "I've figured out a way to move mashed food directly into your stomach. I was inspired by tube feeding, a procedure done by Muggles for those unable to eat by mouth. It's a less invasive but similar procedure to what's done in St Mungo's for those in a coma. I've also developed a Nourishing Elixir, which will provide you with the calories and nutrients you need with just a few drops. Both options are better workarounds for now than Imperiusing and Famishing Draught."

"Oh." Bellatrix shut her eyes and nodded. "That sounds… you've worked hard, Master."

"Yes." He stroked at his jaw when she looked back at him, and she realised he hadn't shaved in the nine days she'd been unconscious. He had the beginnings of a beard growing in. He cleared his throat and said,

"I think your soul is trying desperately to reunite with the part of you that's in the Horcrux. Souls aren't sentient or intelligent, of course; you can't explain to a soul that _it simply doesn't work that way._ I have an ancient text, one I obtained in Hungary decades ago and that helped me learn how to properly create a Horcrux. I translated the text and found that some Horcrux creators' souls need to latch back onto another soul - complete or incomplete doesn't seem to matter. So, unless you manage to find a piece of a soul to latch onto, your body will keep on doing these suicidal acts until you finally do die."

Bellatrix blinked a few times, still feeling fatigued. "So, if my soul is lost and needs to bind to another… do I use another victim? Like I did when I made the Horcrux?"

"No, silly girl," Voldemort whispered. "You use me. My soul."

"What?" Bellatrix shook her head. "No; I can't risk damaging you in any way. You must let me die, Master."

"I absolutely refuse that as an option," he said firmly. "I've looked into it extensively. You and I are Kindred, I think, just like the legend says. Two souls meant to be bound together. I took a massive risk the first time I made a Horcrux, and I took massive risks every subsequent time. I am not afraid of this, Bellatrix. I do not know what it will mean for us, being really and truly knitted up, but if there's a chance it will save your life, then…"

He trailed off and reached for her hand. He studied her knuckles and said in a dazed sort of voice,

"You were slipping under the water. It was so damned cold, but I couldn't care about that. I warmed myself before diving in, just to be sure I'd be able to fly when I surfaced. Your lips were blue and your cheeks were mottled purple. You shook so violently that I thought you were having a seizure. You wouldn't wake, and so I put you to sleep. It took days and days for all your colouring to go normal again. I thought I… I could feel you dying, Bella, when you were in that water. I could feel you sliding away from me, and I…"

His voice cracked a little, and Bellatrix watched one tear slither from his eye down over his cheek. He let it fall from his scruffy jaw onto the Manx quilt, and he whispered,

"I said forever, Bella, and I meant it. So I will do whatever it takes; I will perform the Darkest magic imaginable. You understand?"

"Yes, Master," Bellatrix whispered, setting the glass of water down on the table again. "I am so -"

"Don't." He shook his head firmly. "Don't ever apologise for this again. Not ever."

"All right." Bellatrix shifted uncomfortably, and Voldemort licked his bottom lip.

"Now, here's the tricky part," he said cautiously. "I don't know the spells to bind your soul to mine."

"That is… tricky," Bellatrix agreed, and Voldemort rolled his eyes a little. Bellatrix wondered if she was being slow and stupid from having been asleep for so long. Voldemort said firmly,

"I will dose you with the Nourishing Elixir before I go. I will clean your teeth and hair and body before I go and when I get back. And I will -"

"Wait. Where are you going, My Lord?" Bellatrix felt her heart speed up in her chest a little, and Voldemort said,

"I have to go to a wizard in Iceland. Not excited about that this time of year, but he's the only one I can think of who will probably know these spells. He's called Hrafn Valsson, and he's a world-renowned expert on bindings and severences. There's a rumour that his family began soul binding a thousand years ago, during the age of Muggle Vikings, and they haven't stopped since. I'm going to go see him. I'd take you with me, you understand, but I…"

"You can't trust me not to die somehow," Bellatrix nodded. "You're going to put me into suspension again with the Draught of Living Death, leave me here, and go to Iceland."

Voldemort dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and said, "I don't see as I have much of an alternative."

"No. I suppose not, Master."

Bellatrix dutifully took the Nourishing Elixir and let him cast spells on her to let her body relieve itself cleanly and stay hygienic during her suspension. Then, as he readied the Draught of Living Death, she asked nervously,

"You have got Wiggenweld Potion, right?"

"How do you think I woke you this time round?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix nodded. She lay back on the pillows and let Voldemort bring the blankets up around her again. He brought the dropper to her mouth and counted out ten drops of the clear, bitter potion. Bellatrix felt drowsy at once, but she heard him say,

"Goodnight, Bella."

"Goodnight, My Lord." Her eyes shut heavily, and everything started to feel quiet and still. Bellatrix felt her hand being lifted, felt him kiss her fingers, and the last thing she sensed was his voice murmuring gently,

"You are everything, Bellatrix."

 **Author's Note: Whew! Sorry for the short length of this chapter, but I've been updating like crazy today, and there was also a lot going on in this chapter! Coming up, we'll see Voldemort in Iceland trying to get the spells to bind himself to Bellatrix. Will that put a stop to all this madness? To those who are reviewing despite my rapid-fire updating, I am so grateful for you taking the time to do so. *applause for you***


	28. Chapter 28

Voldemort endured nights of rolling seas on the ferry to Iceland. They backtracked to Denmark and then sailed on, a ship full of Muggles and one anxious wizard, and by the time that Voldemort Apparated across the north of Iceland to Neskaupstadur, he was exhausted. But he had to press on. Bellatrix needed him, or she would die, and without her, he would be nothing.

He stood on a craggy black shale cliff overlooking the cold sea, and he shut his eyes for a moment. He reached out into the ether, trying to feel for her, but the only thing he could feel was sleep. She was suspended still, he knew, by his Draught of Living Death. Voldemort opened his eyes and pushed off the rocky ground, soaring down over the edge of the cliff and landing on the beach, which consisted of black rocks, oval and smooth. His boots crunched on the rocky beach as the waves crashed up against them. Voldemort scowled, remembering his terror as Bellatrix had sunk deeply into the sea, her splintered soul trying to destroy itself.

"Lord Voldemort," said a voice, and he whirled at the sound. A broad man with wild white hair in twin beaded braids pulled his fur cloak more tightly around himself and nodded. "I had a feeling you'd come. Damned wife of mine is a Seer, you know, and she told me a year ago… _The Dark Lord will come for the sake of his life, for the sake of his Only, his Treasure, his All._ "

Voldemort gulped and nodded. "Hrafn Valsson. Will you help me?"

"Well, that depends," said the Icelander, glancing out to the sea. His white hair whipped along with his furs as he said thoughtfully, " _What he seeks to preserve will itself unthread, unless to his Self she is bound, she is sealed._ Margret had all sorts of prophecy about you."

"She sounds like quite a witch," Voldemort said. "I look forward to meeting her."

"I'm afraid that's quite impossible," Hrafn said, still staring at the sea. "Margret died six years ago."

"But how…" Voldemort scowled. How could a dead woman prophesy? Hrafn smiled just a little and suggested,

"Come inside for some schnapps to warm up, and we'll talk… Lord Voldemort."

Voldemort followed Hrafn Valsson toward a cavern, burrowed beneath a craggy cliff over which tumbled a feeble waterfall. The cold water clattered down onto the rocks below, and the kelp there told Voldemort that the tide came at least this high. Voldemort followed Hrafn beyond the waterfall and up into the back of the cave, climbing the black stone stairs that had been built into the place. Up they went, and back into darkness. Hrafn Valsson pulled out a ragged-looking wand and mumbled,

" _Lumos_."

Voldemort illuminated his own wand, careful not to fall as they went deeper into the cavern. Finally they came to a little stone structure, a house with open windows and a warm-looking interior. As Voldemort went inside, he discovered a cosy sort of cottage, with stout handmade furniture and a smokeless magical fire burning in a stone fireplace to warm the place up.

Voldemort snuffed out his wand's light and tucked it away, and he waited until Hrafn Valsson gestured to the pine wood table. Voldemort sat, and Hrafn went into the tiny kitchen, pulling out a stoneware jug and two mugs that appeared to have been handcrafted from clay. He poured some dark, strongly aromatic liquor into each, and he set them on the table and sat. He lifted his mug and said meaningfully,

"To the witches who make us go mad with desire," he said, "the witches who cause us to give of ourselves."

"To those marvelous witches," Voldemort nodded, and he drank. The liquor burned like mad, so he set his mug down and folded his hands on the table. Then he asked bluntly,

"Is your wife a ghost?"

"No. She is… simply dead," Hrafn corrected. "She crossed over into peace years ago, but I talk with her all the time in my head. You think me insane for this, I'm sure."

"I don't," Voldemort countered. He pursed his lips and guessed, "You're bound to her. Your souls are bound together, and not even death can undo that. Have I got it right?"

"You're missing the nuance of the experience," Hrafn said, "but, yes, you've mostly got it right. Why do you need to save her? What has she done?"

"She… we… have made Horcruxes." Voldemort decided that this was no time for secrecy. Hrafn Valsson seemed unsurprised, and he nodded.

"So her soul is desperate. Trying to latch back onto itself. Is she still alive?"

Voldemort's eyes watered a little, and he sipped just a little schnapps before he said, "I've got her at a secret home of mine in suspension. Draught of Living Death. She jumped off a roof and tried to drown herself."

"I see." Hrafn nodded and rose from his chair. He went to the other little room and pulled open a drawer. He took out a wooden stick with a quill-like nib and a sheet of parchment. He came back into the kitchen and sat again, and he began writing. As he wrote, he asked,

"You're both skilled with Legilimency and Occlumency, I hope?"

Voldemort cleared his throat and nodded. "Yes."

"Good." Hrafn scribbled away and said, "You'll be able to close yourselves off if anything gets tiresome, then. Once you're bonded, you'll be able to direct thoughts at one another with ease, to have whole communications inside your mind. Your heartbeats will link up, so if she's off running somewhere and you're sitting in an office, you'll feel exertion. Excitement."

"I see," Voldemort nodded. He paused then and asked, "The effects on… intimacy?"

Hrafn smirked but didn't look up from his parchment. "Now that I do miss. It gets… good. Almost too good. You won't want to shut each other out. Your desire will feed hers, and vice versa. You'll have to struggle to limit yourselves."

"She's barely eaten," Voldemort noted. "Her body rejects the idea of food."

"No," Hrafn said. "Her soul rejects the idea of food. She'll be fine now."

He set down his nibbed pen and blew on the ink to dry it. He pushed the parchment across the table to Voldemort and said,

"This is the Icelandic wizarding way. We'll practise pronouncing the spells before you leave. It's best you do it whilst she's still suspended in sleep; it's easier for you to carry it out that way. When you wake her with Wiggenweld Potion, you'll be bound."

"Is there any downside to this?" Voldemort asked frankly, and Hrafn scoffed.

"You've carved up souls and you ask me if binding two of them together is a bad thing? No, Lord Voldemort. You'll be grateful for this. I still am grateful for it. You'll be stronger, the both of you. Now… let's teach you how to speak my words."

* * *

" _Ég bindi mig við þig._ " Voldemort held the tip of his wand to the place above Bellatrix's heart, struggling to pronounce the Icelandic incantations correctly. " _Þú ert bundinn við mig."_

He pulled his wand away from her, watching in wonder as a wispy white sort of smoke came up out of her. It worked its way into Voldemort's own chest, and he felt a sudden thrumming as his heart and hers linked in time.

" _Ég mun vernda þig, og þú munt vernda mig. Ég mun finna þig, og þú munt finna mig. Sál þín er mín. Sál mín er þitt. Einu sinni voru tveir af okkur. Nú erum við einn._ "

A dull warm pulse flushed through Voldemort's veins, and all of a sudden he could feel the core of her being. A swirling darkness tinged with passion, with energy. She was at once a force of wickedness and a gleeful light of joy. She was wild in her black, searing heat. He wondered what his soul felt like. Voldemort blinked his eyes a few times and decided to try something.

Ordinarily, only Wiggenweld Potion could rouse those who had been suspended by Draught of Living Death. And she was, indeed, deeply and almost irrevocably sleeping. His spells to keep her clean and hygienic had worked well; she even smelled vaguely of roses and mint. Her face didn't look quite as frighteningly gaunt as it had when he'd left for Iceland. She was still far too thin, but it was better than it had been. So Voldemort decided to try.

 _Bellatrix,_ he thought, straight into her mind. There was hardly any veil or wall there, nothing keeping her brain from him. _Bellatrix, I've come back to you. Please… please open your eyes and see me._

He watched in wonder then as her eyes blinked open, and her lips curled up a little. She sounded a bit hoarse as she murmured,

"Master. I felt you… I feel you. I feel your heart."

"I've bound us up," he said, his voice breaking a little. He climbed up onto the bed beside her and lay down facing her. She rotated a little, and he cupped her jaw, feeling a little tingle of delight that he knew was hers. His eyes burned suddenly, and he asked, "How do you feel?"

"Better than I've ever felt in my entire life," she sad, and he could tell she was being honest. She kissed him then, tasting like spearmint from the refreshing spells. She groaned softly against his mouth, and it was immediately almost too much to bear. Voldemort snarled his fingers into her hair and thought at her,

 _I need you. I need you now. Please._

She was slithering out of her knickers before he knew what was happening. His trousers were being unbuttoned, his robes shoved away. He hardly had time to think about any of it before she was atop him, sinking down onto the cock he didn't realise had gone hard.

She tipped her head back, and Voldemort was abruptly aware of what it felt like to be invaded, to have one's body stretched and pushed by his organ. He gasped at the feeling, for it was so very different from anything he'd ever felt. He was aware then that her body was struggling to take him, that the stretching was almost too much to be pleasurable. He snatched Bellatrix's waist and whirled them around until he was atop her. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he began to pump his hips, and he whispered,

"Hrafn Valsson told me that some people are meant to be linked up, Horcruxes or not. It's real, being Kindred. I should have known. I should have known from the first time I couldn't tear my eyes from yours."

 _I should have known_ , came a thought from her mind, and he realised instantly that it was a reverberation of his own thought. Bellatrix reached up to hold onto the beard that was growing in, and he knew she liked it. He knew that because he could feel the purple and scarlet pulse in her mind in reaction to the sight and feel of the beard. It pleased her; it made her want him, made him seem attractive to her. He smirked and pushed his hips harder as he admitted,

"It's only grown in out of laziness. I've been… oh… busy. Mmph."

"Leave it," Bellatrix huffed breathlessly. Then she came, hard and quickly, and she yelped with surprise at how suddenly and powerfully her climax had come on. Voldemort gasped, shocked by the feel of it. Warm like a summer's evening, throbbing, ringing and blurry, clenching. He shut his eyes and knew he had finished right along with her. He breathed in and knew she was doing the same. He breathed out and felt the puff of her breath on his shoulder.

"I will protect you, and you will protect me," he murmured on instinct, repeating what he'd incanted in Icelandic on Hrafn's instructions. He opened his eyes and let himself slip out of Bellatrix, and she nodded.

"Your soul is mine. My soul is yours. Once upon a time, there were two of us, but now there is only the One."

"He had a prophecy," Voldemort whispered, and Bellatrix blinked a few times.

"From his wife. Margret."

"Yes." Voldemort's heart raced as he began to process just how neatly everything had stitched up between them. Her heart would race, too, he thought. He lay beside Bellatrix again, and she said softly,

"I'm so hungry."

He turned up half his mouth and nodded. "How does carrot and ginger soup with crusty bread sound? My specialty."

She smiled, and he instantly felt a rush of her happiness go straight through him. She nodded and whispered a thought.

 _You are everything._

He'd been thinking the exact same thing at the same time, so he swallowed hard and told her firmly,

"If this is what it means to save your soul from destroying you, to keep you with me, Bellatrix, then I will gladly bear the burden. Now. I am going to make you soup. Take your time getting up… you've been doing an awful lot of sleeping lately."

 _The End._

 **Author's Note: So they're really bound up now! This will be the final chapter of** _ **One is One and All Alone.**_ **The third and final installment of this series,** _ **The Night Has Gone and Taken**_ **, will begin with the next update (which will either be later today or tomorrow). If you've enjoyed** _ **Robbers' Retreat**_ **and** _ **One is One and All Alone**_ **, I'd love for you to give a read to the final story of this series. I hope to see you at** _ **The Night Has Gone and Taken**_ **. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading.**


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